Hourglass
by lilyamongthorns
Summary: First Curse AU. Snow enters the wardrobe alone, pregnant with Emma and raises her in the land without magic when Regina casts the curse. Alone and in this strange new world, Snow knows Emma must fulfill her destiny, as the Savior. For now, they will have to make it on their own.
1. Chapter 1

One minute she is there, watching the shaft of light grow thinner, reaching her hand out, scared and wanting to grasp his hand just one last time. The next, everything stops and she's crouched in this little space, hands wrapped over her swollen belly, keeping _her_ safe.

Keeping her safe.

Her legs are shaking and her stomach is aching when she reaches out in the surrounding darkness to pull open the door. Sunlight spills in, and its so familiar. Woods and trees, and for a moment she thinks it hasn't worked. Then she realizes she does not know these trees. She does not recognize this wood, and it _must_ be…

She straightens. Her dress drags in the leaves. They have done it. They have made it. She tries to ignore the twist of guilt in her chest. She has left him. She isn't exactly certain what will happen to him. What will happen to any of them. If they still _are._

She's so scared. And she has been alone before. She had been convinced at one time that this was her destiny. To be alone, but never like this.

There's a movement in her belly and she runs a hand down the soft fabric of her dress and feels the tiny pulse of a kick, reminding her she will not be alone long.

She glances back to the tree, thinking—and knowing for certain there is not—there is a way she can get back. She can't go back. This was their fate, or their choice. The choice they had made for her, in order to set her destiny right.

There's a violent kick, suddenly that makes her nearly double over.

She holds her breath and waits. And it vanishes. She can make it. She can do this. She has convinced herself that she could, tamped down the fear and did not give it another conscious thought before he'd shut her in the intricately engraved prison. The vessel that would separate them for half a lifetime. Maybe longer. She could not know.

She couldn't think about that now. Perspective. There would be a baby soon. A little one who would need her more than anything. There was no going back, and like she'd shoved everything aside to just focus on getting here alive, she'd have to shove aside all thoughts of the past—of the future she thought they were going to have—in order to do this.

She finds a road quickly, and it is not a well-worn path trodden down by horses and people. It is a long ribbon of solid grey stone, or something like stone. She follows it til she sees light.

The shape of the building she comes to is unfamiliar and too sharp, too structured. There are no castles here, no quaint cottages, or burrows beneath the roots of trees. There are ominous looking buildings, seemingly glowing from within, and she just wants to run away. But if she's going to bring this baby into the world safely, she knows she will need help.

A bell jingles somewhere when she opens the door. She glances around, seeing people in odd little chairs at odd little tables with dishes that are too white and clean.

A long bar runs the length of the room, not unlike a tavern, but much cleaner and pleasant smelling. She thinks this must be something like that. A place to eat, to drink, to be with company.

She smells something strange that she cannot place. And apple pie. It makes her stomach swim sickly as she approaches the counter. People are glancing up from their dinners, watching the woman with flowers braided into her hair, in a long white dress, and why is everyone dressed so strangely?

An older woman behind the bar, Granny's age, greets her and asks if she'd like a table. She shakes her head and runs a hand over her belly again, grounding herself.

"No, thank you. I'm…I'm…" She wonders what she is supposed to say. What is most important. Shelter? Food? The baby's safety.

"I'm lost," she admits it, because she doesn't know how else to say it. And it's the truth. She is lost. Away from everything familiar, away from her home and _him._

More people are staring, and her stomach is hurting. Not because of the smell of warm apples, but because the baby is moving, deciding now is a good time to spar with her organs. She gives an uncomfortable grimace, stroking her belly. She apologizes to the woman who's looking at her now like she's crazy, but also as if she cares and just as tears bubble over her cheeks the woman grasps her shoulder.

"Hey. Its alright. Come around back. We'll find you some help, sweetheart."

She follows the woman's invitation behind the counter, through a door to a back room. A desk is laid with paper and envelopes; a huge box with a reflective front that she thinks might be some kind of mirror. The woman sits at the chair by the desk, and invites her to sit in the only other free chair in the corner.

"Is there somebody you can call? You can borrow the phone."

Snow blinks, shaking her head. She is still crying, and the woman offers her a box of soft little cloths that feel like handkerchiefs but more artificial and they crumple in her hands. She dabs her eyes anyways. "The phone?" she asks, confused.

The woman sighs and leans back in her chair, eyeing her. She isn't sure if this woman wants to help or just wants her to leave. She's obviously impeding business.

"Did someone drop you off here?"

Snow shakes her head. "No, I walked." It isn't a lie.

"Walked?" the woman asks in disbelief. "As pregnant as you are? From where? We're miles away from town."

She wants to laugh at that, because she can remember the other day when she was waddling around the bedchamber, complaining about pregnancy and that she was as big as a whale and David smiled and simply asked if she needed a nap.

"I can't…" she starts and shakes her head. More tears come and the woman leans across the desk.

"OK, OK. How about a name? What's your name, honey?"

She starts to answer, remembering the name she gave Red all those years ago. But there's a sharp pain in her stomach again, and the baby is demanding not be ignored. She gasps, and stands, all at once something is warm on her legs. Her dress clings to her.

Oh…

New tears spill over, and it doesn't hurt physically as much as it does to think that this happening _now_ when she's just arrived. When she has no idea where she is, what kind of land this is. If this woman can be trusted. If she really can do this, how she promised David she could. She can't do it without _him._ A wave of fear grips her, tighter than the pain in her abdomen.

She hears the woman yelling, calling for someone named James to call an ambulance. Why does his name have to be James? She doesn't even have time to think on what an ambulance might be before she's ushered inside a white and red vessel where everything is too bright and too loud and strange people are around her asking her questions and telling her to breathe.

She cries and she screams, not because it hurts. It does. But its all so unfair, and she hates it here. This is their best chance. She tries to remember that. She tries to concentrate on that. Tries to imagine David's blue eyes and his smile, that he's holding her hand and not some stranger. When the cart her out of this thing that must be called an ambulance, the pain is blinding.

People all around her are talking, and lights are flashing over her in a repetitive pattern. They are inside another building, and she's being wheeled down a long hallway. Someone somewhere is telling her to keep breathing. It's a man's voice, and for only a split second she thinks it could be his.

Everything stops again, and it seems like its only her screaming and gripping someone's hand. It feels like it lasts only a few minutes, but she knows it is much much longer.

The room is white and the artificial light is too bright.

"It's a girl!" someone announces and she hears someone else's cries. Strong, ear-splitting cries. Emma's cries. Her vision finally focuses again, and she feels the baby being laid against her chest. She is still delirious with confusion and shock and pain, but just before she rests her head back on the pillow and her eyes fall shut, she sees a whisp of fair hair, dusty blonde like David's.

-O-O-O-

There is sunlight spotted along the floor when she wakes up, morning light filtering through a tree outside the window. It does not take her long to realize she is alone in the room that—even in the shade of morning—is still too bright. She panics, and glances around for Emma. Her body is sore, but she sits upright.

Just as she is about to stand, the door opens and a man in all blue wheels a short cart into the room. It isn't until she hears cooing and whimpering that she realizes it's a strange-looking bassinet.

"Good morning, Miss," he says,

She doesn't know what to say in return, and something like a bit of relief rises in her because no one in this world will be calling her Princess or Your Highness.

"Is that…?" she manages, glancing down into the strange looking basinet. The man nods, and Emma cries loudly all of a sudden.

"We wanted to let you have some rest before we brought the baby to stay in your room. Most new moms like a little bit of rest," he states.

Snow nods. "Can I hold her?"

"Of course." He lifts little Emma from the square shaped basinet that reminds her too much of a glass coffin. She settles against her chest easily, and Snow feels her breath catch when she finally looks at her little blonde head and her eyes that match her own.

"She's beautiful," she says, more to herself, but the man answers her.

"She is. You did a wonderful job last night. I'll let you two spend some time together, and bring you the paperwork you'll need to fill out, along with the birth certificate. Does she have a name?"

She doesn't know why her voice shakes so much when she says it. "Emma."

"A beautiful name. Well, I'm your nurse, Nolan. If you need anything, feel free to ask."

She nods, uncertainly, and looks back down at Emma when he leaves the room.

Emma is beautiful, and everything she had hoped and more. She sees Charming in her already, and the dint in her chin is her own. She cries against her chest, swaddled in a pink blanket and Snow remembers the pretty white one Granny had been knitting. It now hung, she supposed, over the side of the crib that was to be Emma's in her nursery. Before all of _this_ happened.

She soothes the baby to quiet murmurs. When Emma finally falls asleep against her, it is Snow's turn to cry.

She rests hear head back on the pillows and streams of silent tears sting her cheeks. This was not how things were supposed to be. Charming was supposed to be with her when Emma was born, encouraging her and smiling down at their new daughter like she'd hung the moon, telling her Emma had her mouth and counting her fingers and toes.

She didn't belong here. Wherever _here_ was. She was meant to be home, with her friends and the people she loved most. With Charming and their new baby, making a little family of their own.

Emma was supposed to be coronated as crown princess, and there would've been a party.

Up until now, everything since the week before had been a rush. To prepare a way out, to build to wardrobe, to decide on a plan, and now she was here only a few hours, with Emma in her arms and everything slams into her all at once. Everything they have done, their talk with Rumplestiltskin, learning of the Queen's curse, and escaping before she can find out.

Bringing Emma into the world was supposed to happy, so why isn't she?

They were alone. In this strange world where everyone had thought they'd be safe, a place that would be the best place for them. the best place for Emma. But Snow could see nothing good about it now. Except that she had no idea what to do next, and her one instinct was to protect her daughter.

She has no clue where to go next. What to do. She barely even has time to calm herself before they bring her a stack of papers, and instruct her how to fill out the birth certificate—which she figured out easily was documentation of Emma's birth. She doesn't know what is appropriate to put at her surname.

She doesn't have one really. Snow White was more on a moniker. And royals did not have surnames. Not many people did, in her land.

Nolan. The nurse's name. In addition to surnames being hard to come by, she had never known a male nurse. A doctor, certainly. It didn't really matter who he was, she supposed. Nolan was as good a name as any, and so she took it as her own. As Emma's. She jots her first name as Mary Margret, opting for both of the name's she'd once given Red as a cover, simply because it sound pretty together.

There's a space for a middle name for Emma, and she crosses the t on Ruth's name with a swell of reminiscence in her chest.

On the line designated as 'Father,' she writes David. David Nolan. Because certainly they won't really be concerned about who he is or need to ask any more questions than this. It all false, but that's ok. She doesn't know how any of it works, but she wants Emma to know his name one day, and perhaps she'll even tell her the story of her favorite nickname for him.

After all the pomp and circumstance, she is alone with Emma again. The bright light above her bed makes Emma's eyes shine brightly like jewels.

"You made it," she coos at her. "We made it."

Emma wriggles against her, and she's so tiny and new.

Snow's chest tightens again and she tries not to cry.

"I promise, Emma," she says quietly, "I'm going to make this work for us. I'm going to give you your best chance."

The baby watches her, reaches up towards her.

"I love you, Emma." She catches her hand in hers and presses it to her lips.


	2. Chapter 2

_The Enchanted Forest, Two Weeks Ago_

"You're pouting."

"I am not pouting."

"Brooding then," she said, edging up beside him on the balcony, as close as her belly would allow.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, following his eye line out over the wood, the tall pines and the steep cliff, where the sun was inching its way down, creating reds and pinks in the sky.

"What is it?"

"I don't want to live with this," he said quickly. "With not having this family. I don't want to have to come to terms with it like its permissible."

She lifted her head to stare at him, in profile. His jaw was tight, his brows furrowed. They had both discussed the plan, time and time again. And with the council. This would be the only way, and certainly was not the ideal. But it had to be. However much it hurt his honor to do this, they had to.

"I know," she whispered. "Its our only chance…"

He turned to face her, reaching forward to place a gentle hand on her stomach. She covered his hand with her own.

"It doesn't have to be."

"Charming," she warned in a quiet voice. "There is no other way…"

"I know. I know that…" He looked away again. His hands fell away from her, to his sides.

"I just wish there was… If we…" He had thought of Rumplestiltskin. Of making another deal. But they'd already done enough harm. _He_ had already done enough harm to the people. Now they would have to make their own decisions, without the help of magic. As much as it promised to, magic could not solve everything. "I have faith in you that this will work. But she's just a baby, and she's brought into all this now. I don't want us to have to keep running from her, and I never wanted to have to sacrifice my child because of her." His voice took a bitter edge.

"Don't think that I've resigned myself to thinking this is good, either," she said. "It isn't. But there is a difference in good and right. And protecting our child is always right. Protecting the baby we weren't even supposed to have. She's going to save us, David. That's my hope in all of this. That she's going to bring us back together, and waiting half a lifetime won't even compare to what its going to feel like when we find each other."

She grabbed his hand and pulled it towards her belly again.

Charming smiled and stepped forward to press his forehead to hers. "You're right."

"I usually am," she teased and leaned up just the last few inches to kiss him.

Charming's hand pressed gently but firmly against her stomach, encouraging a tiny kick from the baby. He smiled when he pulled away from her kiss. "That is my favorite thing," he said. "Knowing she's right there..."

Emma kicked again and Snow laughed.

When she looked back up at him, she noticed his eyes were far away and stormy. He sighed, and she pressed her hand to his cheek.

"Hey..." she whispered. "It's alright. You're right; we can do this."

He nodded, and stroked a hand over her belly again. "I know. I wish I could...just meet her."

"You will. One day, you will."

-O-O-O-

 _Our World, 1983_

Emma was a quiet child so far. Her cries were bombastic, probably considered legendary. But she didn't cry often, and as long as Snow was holding her she did not cry. She nursed easily, and slept regular hours. And she was beautiful.

Snow just couldn't get over how beautiful she was. How tiny she was, how her eyes watched all around her, taking everything in. How she watched her like she already knew her, intently and curiously all at once.

The hospital would discharge her after a week, and after that…Snow did not know.

She was just managing to quiet a sudden tantrum by nursing when the door opened, and the woman from the diner stepped inside.

She was Granny's age, with greying hair and glasses, but thinner and more severe looking, like she would take no nonsense. Not that Granny ever did, either.

"You made it through the worst," she said, "Its all downhill from here. Well, except the terrible twos." She smiled down at the baby in Snow's arms. "She's pretty."

"Thank you."

"I'm Maureen by the way," the woman said. "Since we didn't get introduced a few days back." She gave a knowing smile and Snow nodded.

"Mary Margret," she answered, using her new name.

"Nice to meet you. And this little one?"

"Emma." She pushed a few whisps of hair from her daughter's face.

"How pretty. They told me you had a time of it. Passed out afterwards? I've had three of my own, and it doesn't get easier, I promise." She gave a little chuckle.

This woman had been nothing but kind to her, and it wasn't that she didn't trust her. She was just still so out of place here, and maybe sometimes she let her days alone get the better of her. She knew well how to keep her distance.

"I'm sorry. I don't understand why you're…here? Why you came to visit. We were out of your hair, why find us?"

Maureen smiled again. "You're scared," she said, as if that was all the explanation needed. "And alone. I don't know why, and I'm not going to ask. Your business is your own. But that doesn't mean I can't offer my help. There's a room just above the diner, and you can have it if you like. I'd say we could probably do well with an extra waitress around the place, too. You'll pay off your rent that way."

Snow—Mary Margaret—glanced down to Emma now asleep against her chest, breathing evenly. They had nowhere to go after this. And she needed protecting, and shelter. If Maureen was offering a safe place, and a way to earn money…she couldn't very well refuse.

"Thank you," she managed.

-O-O-O-

The little room above the restaurant was furnished quaintly, with a sofa with short wooden legs, not unlike the lounge she had in her own bedchamber in the castle. The main room split from a kitchen and a small bedroom, only big enough for a bed and a crib for Emma that they had managed to purchase cheaply, used.

Eventually she would have to learn how to use all of these things, like the refrigerator, and the contraption called Maureen had called a microwave. The stove seemed self-explanatory enough, and eventually would be useful in warming bottles for Emma.

Maureen promised her a few weeks of free room and board, to stay with the baby and rest. She was grateful. Emma wasn't a needy baby, and hardly cried, but Snow didn't want to let her out of her sight. She needed to be near her, and hold her and talk to her. She wouldn't let her feel alone. For so long, she'd been certain she would never have a child. That Charming and she would never be able to have this. Things had not turned out as they thought. They had their child, but they weren't together now.

She would just have to hope that they were safe, that wherever the curse had taken them, they would not be harmed.

Maureen had brought her a few sets of clothes that she had said were borrowed from her own daughter. She had even bought a few things for Emma, and had offered to take her soon to buy more if needed. The clothes in this world were strange, but she could life with it. They were, thankfully, easier to maneuver in than a gown. The dress she had arrived in was cleaned and placed in the little closet in the bedroom, the little hair comb she'd worn laid on top.

She held it now, up to the sunlight filtering through her window. A cast swan rested on the top of the comb, its wing spread over the length.

She was reminded of home, of all of the things she had to leave behind. With Emma, she could learn to forget most of that. Certain things, she'd never forget. But it would get easier. There would never be a day she didn't think of Charming, wish for his protection. But she could learn to survive here, and find her way back to him. After all, she had promised that they would be together again. And she was nothing if not true to her word.

Emma cried in her little crib, waking disconcertedly. She moved to gather her in her arms, wrapping her little pink blanket around her.

"Well hello, sleepy head. That was a good nap, wasn't it?"

Emma cooed, wiggling her arms up towards Snow.

"If we were home, there would be a party soon. A celebration just for you, Princess Emma."

The baby grew quiet, settling contentedly again Snow's chest.

"So many people love you, Emma. Your father especially. You won't meet them for a very long time but…You will. One day you will."


	3. Chapter 3

AN: If I didn't establish this, the wardrobe opened up to our world just outside of Boston, so just in case I didn't write that in. (I don't think they ever specifically said in the show, I'm just assuming because I always just thought Emma moved back to wherever her first home was and that was when Henry found her).

-O-O-O-

 _Boston, 1987_

 _Emma, 4; Snow, 32_

"Mommy!"

Snow scooped her up, swinging her easily onto her hip. "Oh, hello, my beautiful princess! I missed you all day!"

She walked the two of them back towards the house where Emma had come running from.

"I missed you too. But Mommy, I told you a million times. I'm not a princess."

"You're my princess," Snow defended.

Emma looked indignant and shook her head dramatically. "I'm not a princess! I'm gonna be a pirate, like in Peter Pan."

"If you insist, Miss Pirate Queen Emma."

Emma grimaced and shook her head with a giggle.

"Hi, Miss Nolan," McKenzie said from the doorway, waving.

"Hi. Was she good today?" she asked, setting Emma down once they'd reached the front door. She didn't miss Emma's coy wink at the babysitter, and McKenzie's little nod.

"Yeah. She even took a nap."

Snow nodded. "Of course she did." She glanced down to her daughter, reaching to grasp her hand. Emma was rather good at wrangling McKenzie, Maureen's teenaged granddaughter out of naptime. She was sure that plenty of sugar and television took the place of a proper nap this afternoon.

"Emma, go inside and get your backpack. And don't forget your rabbit," she told Emma who bounded happily inside.

"You can tell me the truth. Believe me, I know that kid's wily ways all too well," Snow said, leaning against the brick that framed the front door.

McKenzie laughed. "Yeah. She ate half a box of Teddy Grahams and a whole batch of Jell-O, so…"

Snow smiled and rolled her eyes. "I figured. She's spoiled, no doubt about it."

"She's sweet. I love watching her."

"Hey, aren't you getting your license soon?"

McKenzie nodded proudly. "Yeah, Mom and I are already car shopping."

'Here." Snow rummaged in her purse for her wallet and handed over double McKenzie's usual pay. "Put it toward the fund."

"Miss Nolan, you don't have to…"

"Its fine," Snow insisted, smiling. "Emma loves you. And I'm happy for you. Just let me know when I'll need to start staying off the road."

McKenzie laughed and thanked her, and jumped over the doorjamb, yellow backpack swinging on her shoulder, her stuffed rabbit under one arm.

"Bye McKenzie!" she called, waving and initiating an impromptu race against her mother to the car.

Snow shook her head. Definitely too much sugar. She waved goodbye to McKenxie and helped Emma into her car seat.

"Will you read me a story tonight?" Emma asked eagerly.

"Of course." Snow buckled her in easily.

"And can we have grilled cheese for dinner?"

"Sure."

"And can we have dessert?"

Snow gave her a half-smile. "I'm not so sure you need more sweets today, little miss.

"I was really good today, though. And I made you a picture. I'll show you at our house."

Emma talked happily the whole way home, and Snow listened intently. Emma was sometimes too sad and quiet for her age. Almost like she was suddenly thrust into a realm of cares bigger than a four-year-old could grasp. Like she was thinking too hard. Trying to remember something, or figure something out. Snow would catch her staring out the window on long car rides, concentrating quietly. Or watch her stare off into space suddenly when she sat at their dining room table coloring.

She hoped that somehow she had not ruined this. Choosing this life was their only chance, and it was clear that Emma, even now at four, didn't feel exactly like she belonged.

Reading stories cheered her up, and Snow tried to put her in activities to introduce her to other kids. She'd done soccer this past autumn (which had been lovely until Emma didn't get the ball and punched a boy in the stomach during the game) and Snow hoped ballet would be next. She was somewhat of a tomboy in her own right, but Snow just couldn't resist the idea. It was what little girls in this world were expected to do, anyways. But whatever Emma chose, Snow would be behind her. She wanted Emma to choose her own path.

Next year she would begin school, and Snow couldn't believe things were moving this fast. Only moments ago, it seemed, they were catapulted into this place, and the chaos of the first year overtook her. She'd worked as a waitress at Maureen's restaurant for quite some time, but she worked at a law office now as a clerk, and kept up her friendship with Maureen even after leaving.

She and Emma were close with all of them, and had practically been accepted as part of their family. She and Emma were always invited over on holidays, and they in turn had attended all of Emma's birthday parties so far. There were few holidays in Misthaven, but Snow was certain Charming would've liked the cozy warmth of Christmas, and the excuse to hunt for Thanksgiving.

She thought about him often, wondering what he would think of all this now. Wondering how his new life, given by the curse, had turned out. The memories were temporary, but she at least hoped they were enjoyable.

She wished he could see Emma grow. She was recording all of it in pictures, and had just recently learned how to operate a video camera. He would have plenty to catch up on. But it was different than having him here now.

At home, she made them both grilled cheese sandwiches and insisted Emma have a vegetable on the side. She tempered the disappointment of steamed broccoli by making a pallet on the living room floor and a tent out of the tablecloth and her bed sheets. The two ate dinner in their fort, watching Emma's latest obsession, The Jetsons.

She had seen all of the Disney movies, and hadn't been impressed. She could see the appeal for people in this world, but it wasn't reality and the portrayal of her own self, she thought, had been far too feminine and too sweet to stomach. Fortunately, Emma wasn't much of a girly girl and didn't beg for a Cinderella lunchbox like other girls her age, and instead had picked an Indiana Jones one. Snow was relieved.

Emma fell asleep with her head in Snow's lap, her empty plate forgotten on the floor of their fort.

Snow gathered her up, and carried her to bed.

Only when Snow was slipping off her little socks did she wake up. "Will you tell me a story?" she murmured softly, eyes still closed.

"Its already past your bedtime," Snow argued, and how long could the girl last through a story, half-asleep anyways?

"Please?"

Snow grinned, and leaned over to press a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "One story."

"Yay," Emma yawned, scooting herself up on the pillows and pretending to be wide-awake and doing quiet a good job. Snow tucked herself next to her on the little bed, hugging her close.

"Once upon a time…" she started, "on a cool morning in the Enchanted Forest, a prince was riding in his carriage through the wood, accompanied by the woman he'd been pledged to marry…"

"But he didn't love her," Emma complained sleepily.

"Shhh…" Snow smiled and kissed the crown of Emma's head. She had heard this story and others so many times before, Snow was not surprised she could practically tell them on her own now. "That doesn't come til later, now…a fallen tree had stopped the carriage from its travels and so prince hopped out to see what could be done…"

She talked until Emma was sound asleep, and tucked her in with one last goodnight kiss.

It was important to her that Emma knew the truth about where she came from, even if she didn't think of it as truth yet.

She wasn't sure when she'd tell her. It didn't seem right now. To have Emma thinking at this age that her parents were fairytale characters—Snow could not see that boding well at dance recitals.

For now she could think of them as just stories.

-O-O-O-

"Mommy?"

She jumped awake. It didn't take long to make out Emma's tiny figure in the dark. The moonlight caught her hair and turned it to spun gold. Snow felt her heart break just a little bit when she reached out to her and Emma walked toward, clutching her stuffed rabbit in one hand and grasping her mother's with the other.

"I got scared," she admitted quietly, shuffling her bare feet against the carpet.

"It's alright, honey. Do you want to stay with me tonight?" she asked and her little girl nodded eagerly, jumping into the covers with a little giggle that Snow returned. She made sure to cuddle her close, hugging her tight before settling her in, Emma's rabbit that she has named Jefferson-for whatever reason-between them.

"Do you want to tell me why you got scared?" She asked, tucking a lock of Emma's long hair behind her ear.

The girl nodded. "I was dreaming that we were in the woods. And you were carrying me and running with me, but your hair was long, not short like it is now. And we were running from a lady who had a big black dress. She was wanting to take your heart. But then we saw a man with a sword and a nice smile. And he fought the bad lady 'til she went away."

Snow smiled. "Well he saved us didn't he?" she asks quietly.

Emma nodded and snuggled sleepily against the pillows.

"So it didn't end scary." She leaned over to kiss her daughter's forehead.

"Guess not," Emma yawned. "I'm not scared any more cuz you're here," she declared bravely, despite sounding tired. She scooted over to curl against Snow's shoulder.

"Good. I love you."

"I love you too, Mommy. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

She let Emma rest against her, waiting for her breathing even as a sure sign she was fast asleep again.

"Mommy?"

Snow wanted to shush her and insist it was bedtime now, but decided against it this time.

"Yes?"

"Do you think the man in my dream is the same man in your story? The prince?"

Snow didn't stir, didn't even open her eyes.

"Do you?"

"Yeah," Emma said quietly, burrowing against the covers. "Because he's nice. A nice prince."

In the darkness, Snow let herself smile. She opened her eyes again to glance down at her daughter, her little eyelashes dark against her cheeks, her rabbit under her chin.

Eventually she let her own eyes close. But she didn't sleep. The man in the dream had been David. Even here, worlds apart they found each other. Even if he was just a figment, but she could not resign herself to thinking that it has just been Emma's imagination. There was no way. It had to be real, in some sense. A sense she didn't understand. But what she did understand was that he, his heart, would always be a part of hers. Through Emma, and through all the roads and journeys she would have to take to find him again.

She understood that this had been the right choice. As difficult as it was, as terrified as she found herself at times, Emma's bright smile and happy laugh were things she could not have missed. Could not have lived without. Bringing Emma here was her best chance, and if sacrifice meant not having Charming, she was beginning to understand day by day that this sacrifice had been the right one to make.


	4. Chapter 4

The day had come. She hadn't expected to dread it this much. It wasn't like she saw Emma all throughout the day, since she left her with McKenzie most days of the week, but something about knowing her daughter was starting school, finally on the journey that all children had to take, was enough to make her start tearing up while they sat in the line of cars outside the school.

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

She looked up in the rearview mirror at her little girl, in her little uniform (a skirt that she had fought tooth and nail not to have to wear). Her Indiana Jones lunchbox was clutched in her hand, a regulation black backpack on the floor of the car that seemed far too big when she pulled it over her shoulders. Her hair fell in long pigtails over her shoulders, and Snow smiled, turning in her seat to face her.

"I'm not sad. I'm happy."

"Then why are you crying?"

"Because you're getting so big. And I'm nervous about you starting school today."

"I'm not nervous, so you don't have to be," Emma said decidedly.

When a teacher opened the back door to help Emma from the car, Snow threw it in park and hopped out herself.

"I'm sorry," she apologized to the woman, hurrying up and around the curb to pull Emma into one last hug.

"Its fine," the teacher said with a smile that was half-bemused. "You aren't the first one."

"You have everything right?" she said, kneeling down to Emma. "Your lunch? Your new crayons? Did we remember to put the name tag on your jacket?" She smoothed Emma's hair and straightened her collar.

Emma glanced to the teacher almost regretfully. "Mommy, you're being weird. And I promise to take a nap," she huffed, rolling her eyes.

"Ok. I'll be here at the end of the day. Have fun, and make lots of friends. And be good. And if you get scared, I can be here early."

"I'm not going to be scared."

She was being dramatic. She knew it. But this was her baby, and there just didn't seem to be enough time to keep her little anymore.

She didn't expect to see this as the beginning of the end of her daughter's childhood. Children were expected to grow up faster in her world, even royals. But in this world she had the luxury of doting on her and idealizing her childhood, which Snow probably enjoyed far too much.

"I know. You're a big girl. OK. Mommy's going," she promised and stood. She waited and watched as the teacher led Emma inside. She turned and waved over her shoulder, pigtails bobbing.

Just to be sure she'd be available to pick Emma up on the first day, Snow had taken the day off of work. She ended up at Maureen's diner for a good portion of the morning, drowning her sorrows over a cup of cocoa.

"Good thing you'll only have to go through this once. The other times, you're ready for those kids to get gone," Maureen said, leaning against the bar. "This time, its actually bittersweet."

"She's right," Alice, McKenzie's mother, said and dolloped more whipped cream onto Snow's hot chocolate.

"She's growing up so fast," Snow mused, suddenly thinking on the years left until Emma would realize her destiny, and they'd be reunited with the family and friends they'd left. In Misthaven, she would've had a governess, but not until she was older. And this was too early to be expected to cede responsibility of a child for this many hours a day. To strangers. "I'm going to go up there. I'm just going to check on her. I just want to make sure she eats her fruit for lunch and…"

Maureen patted her hand knowingly. "Bad idea. Just let it happen. She's loving it, I promise."

"Its just been she and I for so long…I guess I'm overreacting." She settled back onto her stool.

"Maybe…" Maureen said with a grin, "…its time that you add one more to the equation."

Snow gaped, shaking her head. "No. No. I've never considered..."

"I've never even seen you go on a date," Alice complained. "I know a guy who's a lawyer. Single. Tall, handsome. Blue eyes," she said, as if that was enough to entice her.

Snow tried to force a laugh. She'd never thought of having a relationship with anyone else, even though she and Charming were separated now. It wasn't forever, and she wouldn't falter on that commitment to him. "No, really. I don't think so."

Alice shrugged. "If you insist. If you change your mind, I can get his number for you."

Alice had two children, McKenzie and her younger brother Jack. She'd married only a few months back, to another man. Snow could never imagine…It just wasn't commonly done in her land. Even in the most loveless of marriages. Unless of course one partner died, as was the case with her father. She could never think of giving herself to someone else in any way, love or otherwise.

"You do what you feel's right, honey," Maureen encouraged. "She's your little one for not much longer, and you've got to make that time matter."

She finally managed to go home and get some housework done, and was in the car line early to pick Emma up. She took her for ice cream, and Emma hadn't stopped talking since she got in the car.

"We played a game to learn each other's names, and sorted our school supplies. And I met a girl named Lily, and I traded her my princess pencil sharpener for her dragon one. But don't be mad, because dragons are better anyways. And then we had recess, and lunch. I ate all my snacks. And I did take a nap…"

"I'm glad you had a good first day," Snow said over her ice cream cone.

"I have a note for you to sign and put our names on and stuff." Emma dug her spoon into her bubblegum flavored ice cream. "Mommy?" Her tone changed and Snow looked up.

She was concentrating hard, folding the rainbow sprinkles into the ice cream with that curious look on her face that she caught her wearing sometimes. "How come…I don't have a daddy? The teacher said there is a place for a mommy's name and a daddy's name on the paper, but I don't have one, so…?"

Snow turned, looking outside and watching traffic pass, trying to find an answer. She tried to wipe at a tear before Emma saw it, but it was too late.

"Mommy, why are you crying again?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she said, trying to smile.

Sometimes it struck her all at once; the fact that he should've been here. They shouldn't have ended up like this. She knew they would have a family again somewhere down the line, but that didn't change the fact that Charming wasn't here to see this. It hurt that Emma had to ask questions like this. She should've known him. Snow had thought so many times about telling her, but it didn't seem right yet. Not in a world where their kind were considered fairytales and legends. She wanted her to know, but she wanted her to know the right way.

She felt Emma's little hand pat hers on the table. "Its ok if I don't have a daddy. Because you're a good mommy."

It was all Snow could do to keep herself together then, for Emma's sake. She hadn't wanted her child brought into all of this. She wished it would've ended long ago. But the fact remained that Emma's destiny was to bring them back together, and that was enough to give her all the hope she needed.

At home, she filled out Emma's sheet for the teacher, and let her watch cartoons. She told her that night at bedtime about the prince that fell in love with the woman with hair as black as ebony, and the daughter they had hoped so long for and whom they had crowned princess of all the land, because that was the ending she imagined, and the ending she hoped they'd one day have.

-O-O-O-

AN: Short, but I promise a longer one next time. Emma gets princess lessons ;)


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Big jump, maybe. But we've got a long way to go. And I'm really bad at writing kids.

-O-O-O-

 _The Enchanted Forest, Weeks before Emma's birth_

"How we do know she'll find out? How do we know we'll find you when we don't even know where you'll be going?"

"You will find the way, with faith."

"Faith? You want me to just _believe_ that we'll find you, and we will?"

The Blue Fairy's wings drooped for a beat or two in exasperation. "It is the only answer I can give. Except…she will know. You must believe that she will."

Snow turned, looking back towards her husband. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. There was no assurance in this. There was no way of being certain when or where they would be together again. There was just believing, and now Snow was not certain that was enough guarantee to give up her family.

There were too many possibilities. Too many things that could go wrong.

She drew a hand over her belly, blinking away the sting of tears in her eyes. "I can't do this," she breathed.

Charming stepped forward, bringing his arms around her. "You can. You will."

"I'm just supposed to give up everything? On an outcome we don't even know will happen? How am I supposed to find you? How am I supposed to know where you are, if you're still…"

He smoothed his hands over her shoulders. "We always find each other."

She sighed, sated but only enough to quench her worries for now.

"Raise her to be good," he said, glancing over her shoulder to confirm the Blue Fairy had disappeared. He didn't worry now about crying in front of her. "Raise her like we would've if…if we didn't have to do this. If you can do that, the rest is up to her. And I know she'll find us."

Snow leaned forward, resting her head against his shoulder. Making decisions blindly was something she never was good at. And when that decision, when their only hope, relied on her giving up a family… None of this would be easy.

-O-O-O-

 _North Carolina, 1998_

 _Emma 15, Snow 43_

"Mom, no. That's lame."

"Oh, its just a few dances and dinners. And who knows, you might be surprised. You might meet a boy."

"I don't want to meet a boy!" Emma protested weakly. "Why can't I just stay with softball?"

"You can. But you can do this too. Extracurricular activities are very attractive on college applications." She recited just like she'd read in the parent's guide to high school. "And its good training for when you become a prin…a lady. And a wife. And…"

"A wife?" Emma groaned and plopped onto the sofa. "Mom…."

"Cotillion is going to be good for you," she said decidedly, tossing the packet of information on the coffee table and planting her hands on her hips. "Maybe you'll learn some manners. Learn how to pick up your shoes when you're told." She gestured at the mangy pair of Chucks by the doorway.

Snow had moved them away from Boston when Emma finished elementary school, and while she was heartbroken to leave Maureen and her family who had been so kind to them, it was best to start over in a new spot where no one knew them and would not become suspicious.

"If I have to." Emma grabbed for the remote. But Snow plucked it from her hand.

"No television until you've put away your shoes and loaded the dishwasher."

Emma tried to hide her eye roll, but failed. Snow ignored it.

For the most part, things were lovely. She heard from other mothers at Emma's school about how difficult their daughters were. Stories about sneaking out with boys and staying out til all hours, ignoring their homework. Emma was a very good student, and they hardly argued any more than bickering over chores. She wasn't interested in boys yet, and Snow thanked her lucky stars. She didn't know what she was going to do once that came about. She was so happy they had the relationship they did. When she'd found out she was pregnant, once they'd learned of Regina's curse, she'd been fearful she wouldn't even be able to know her daughter. They'd made it this long together, and even though the teenage years were creeping in, Snow had confidence their relationship wouldn't be forfeited for boys or softball or even cotillion dinners.

It was the first day of school, of Emma's freshman year, and as tradition she took her for ice cream.

"So what happened with that guy?" Emma asked while they took a walk around the park.

"What guy?"

"That guy from work who asked you on a date. Did you say yes?"

Snow scoffed and shook her head. "Oh. No."

"Why? Did you find out he had a record or something? Six fingers?"

Snow laughed, glancing up at her daughter. "No. I just don't want to go on dates, that's all."

"Mom, you're still young enough to date."

"Oh, gee thanks." She nudged Emma's shoulder playfully and the girl laughed, embarrassed.

"You know what I mean! I just want you to know I wouldn't be mad if you did. I'm for it, if you like the guy and he's good to you."

Snow shrugged. She had never gone a date, never even given another man a thought since they'd arrived here. She understood that it was unexpected and an anomaly to be in her forties, single, with a teenaged daughter and not be married. But it was the way things were, and she did not want to change it. Not with Charming waiting.

"I think we've got a good thing, here. I don't see a point in changing it. Its always been just us. You…you like it this way, right?" She hesitated. Though they'd managed to function well as a family, she knew Emma had felt for several years like something was missing. Like she was different. And indeed she was, but it didn't make it easier to watch her daughter gaze at the dads running up to their daughters to congratulate them after games.

"Yeah." Emma nodded. "I do. I just want you to be happy, too."

She smiled over at her and pulled an arm around her shoulders. "I'm happy," she assured her. She pressed a kiss to her hair. Her little girl had grown so fast, faster than she expected and yet it seemed so far away that they would travel to the place where the rest of their family waited. They'd had to live alone, with few friends and once they were home again, she was sure that Emma would have more family than she would know what to do with.

She still hadn't told her. She had meant to. She had tried to. When bedtime stories lost their appeal, she'd made a decision to tell Emma when it felt right. And so far, it had never felt right. Maybe she had perpetuated a lie too long, and the right moment had passed. She would have to tell her eventually and be satisfied with the consequences. Now she worried that Emma would think she was crazy. She had no proof, no actual evidence that this world even existed. She'd kept her gown, all these years, wrapped neatly in a box at the bottom of her closet, with that little swan comb perched on top. But that was hardly enough to convince her. If she'd had magic, maybe things would be different. She would just have to test the waters and see, and hope that she didn't push Emma away for good.

As they made their way back to the car, Emma talked about her sixteenth birthday—that was ten months away—and the kind of car she'd like to have. Snow supposed she'd have to start teaching her how to drive. In their land, she would've taught her horseback riding. She would've taught her about tracking and hunting, and Charming would've given her lessons in sword fighting. Things were so different here, and Snow just wanted Emma to know—somehow—that the destiny she had was so much bigger than any of this. But how was she supposed to tell her daughter she was crowned princess to a magical land that here only existed in storybooks?

She'd suggested the cotillion dinners as a way for Emma to experience a little of what she'd lost, whether she knew it or not. She wanted her daughter to have a life close to what she would've had at home, if they could not be there now.

At home, they sat together and filled out all Emma's paperwork for her new teachers, and Snow sighed amongst the pile of permission slips and syllabi.

"It seems like just yesterday you were starting kindergarten."

"Mom." Emma sighed dramatically.

"Now you're almost grown up. And soon you'll be..." Snow sighed. _Saving the world. Our world._

"Oh my gosh, Mom. Its going to be ok," she soothed half-heartedly.

Snow sighed once more and looked up her. She had grown so beautiful, and there was no doubt that she would've had many suitors. Many princes and dukes vying for her hand. Of course, none of them would be good enough for Charming, or even herself. And she'd always imagined them letting Emma tread her own path anyways.

"One day you'll understand," she said, reaching to squeeze her hand.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Fast update but here you go…

-O-O-O-

 _The Enchanted Forest, Just Before the Curse_

She slipped easily through the shadows of this castle, unnoticed. A dark figure curved along the dark walls, horns reflected in a jagged and misshapen silhouette. She knew he was here, in the bowels of the prison, tucked safely out of sight and out of mind by that brainless princess and her husband. Too naïve, they underestimated evil. It was the entire reason they were in this mess to begin with.

"Trying to sneak up on me, deary? Nice try."

She straightened, slamming her staff hard against the stone floors in surprise. She look up where he was perched in the center of his cell, cross-legged and scribbling away at some long scroll of parchment.

"Fancy meeting you here," she all but scoffed, continuing towards him. "I have a favor to ask of you," she began, not bothering to clutter their meeting with pleasantries.

"I don't remember owing you anything," he sneered and rose, tossing away his writings, gold tinged skin glinting like scales in the moonlight filtering into the tower. "Maleficent."

He said her name like spitting out poison, and yet it hissed through the cavern like a whisper.

"You don't. I'd like to make a deal."

"Oh not beating around the bush are we? Have you already made up your mind, then?" He practically bounced up to the bars, leaning his face through them. "Or shall I remind you of…"

"I know the price," she stopped him. She glanced away, into the tunnel that had led her here, taking a moment to steel herself and beginning again. "Whatever it is, I will pay it."

"Oh, I love it when they say that!" he chirped excitedly. "What'll it be, my dear? King Stefan's knights on your trail? Or were you looking for another sleeping curse?"

"I can take care of my own sleeping curses, thank you," she defended, insulted. "I've forgotten how proud your darkness has made you."

"What is it you want, exactly?" he countered, smile broadening grimly, teeth flashing.

"I know about Regina's curse."

"And you're wanting me to protect you from it? Sorry, deary." He stretched his hands through the bars, gesturing around the cave. "A bit indisposed."

"I want you to protect my child. Since you're stuck in this place…" She glanced through the bars of his cell, grimacing. "…you'll have to tell me how. How and where I can create a portal to a land where she will be safe."

A maniacal giggle echoed around her and he drew back his hands. "A child? Oooh, what a surprising twist! Tell me deary, is it reptile or mammal?"

She shot forward and grabbed at his throat, catching him easily through the bars, almost like he was willing.

She pressed her thumb against the tender skin over his windpipe, but he didn't even flinch.

"Save my child. Tell me the price, so we can be done with this."

"Your price," he hissed, "Will leave you trapped in your dragon form. Are you sure you'll sacrifice your mortality for this child?"

"Anything," she repeated, releasing her hold on him, swiping her hand over her gown for effect, reminding him how filthy she thought he was.

"The deal is done," he sang, wriggling his fingers.

"Tell me how to save her."

He twittered once more, grinning like a wolf after supper.

-O-O-O-

 _North Carolina, 1998  
_ _Emma 15, Snow 43_

Emma sighed, rifling through her backpack for a pencil, slapping a notebook out onto her desk. Her mom might be proud that she was an all-A student, but she definitely wasn't the most organized one.

The blonde boy in front of her leaned back, holding out one of those nice, blue mechanical pencils.

"Thanks," she said, taking it with a blush. She was still getting to know people here at this new school, and still sort of felt out of place. But the boys weren't difficult to look at, she could grant this place that at least.

He gave her a smile. "Anytime," he said before turning around to face the front of the room.

A girl plopped down beside her, tossing her unraveling backpack onto the lab table. They didn't greet each other until class started and the teacher prompted them to work with their partners for answers to the study guide. They split up the questions and started working in silence. The girl didn't seem to want to talk, and Emma could respect that. But the awkwardness was too much, and eventually she spoke.

"I'm Emma, by the way."

The girl glanced up. "Lily."

"Did you just move here?" she asked, peeking to copy Lily's half of the questions.

"You could say that." Lily kept her expression blank and her voice even.

Emma shrugged. "Just wondering. It's the third week and I haven't seen you around."

Lily nodded. "I just moved. From Massachusetts."

Emma watched her scribbling the last few answers. On her wrist, where her hoodie sleeve was pushed up, Emma could see the outline of a star.

"Wait. Did you say Massachusetts? Lily?"

The girl glanced up from her study guide, eyeing her, clearly confused.

"I'm pretty sure we went to kindergarten together. That's too weird."

Lily's face suddenly blossomed into a smile. "Emma? Yeah, I remember you! Weird…"

"I remember your birthmark," she said, pointing with the end of her pencil to the girl's wrist.

When the bell rang for lunch, Emma stuffed her books away and stashed the mechanical pencil before the boy could ask for it back.

"Hey, I usually eat lunch outside at the picnic tables. You can meet me there, if you want," she said before Lily could manage to slink away.

The girl shrugged her backpack onto her shoulders. For a moment, Lily looked unsure. Her eyes darted away and she shifted. Then she gave a small smile. "Um…yeah. That sounds good."

-O-O-O-

 _A few Weeks Later_

Snow glanced up from the bills spread over the breakfast bar when Emma's laughter sounded through the house, and her daughter stepped through the front door with another young girl trailing behind.

"Hi, Mom," she greeted cheerily. "This is Lily."

She gestured to the girl, who wore ratty jeans and carried a worse-for-wear looking backpack, brown hair framing her face prettily.

"Hi Lily." Snow smiled. Emma rarely brought friends home, not because they weren't welcome. It just didn't happen. But Snow knew all the names of the girls on her team, and Lily must've been a new friend.

"We're gonna work on some homework," Emma said, stalking backwards for the stairs. "Can Lily stay for dinner?"

"Sure. Its spaghetti, if that's ok."

"That's fine," Emma shot over her shoulder, her and her friend already halfway up the steps, giggling again over some silent joke that Snow had obviously missed. She went back to her work, but couldn't help sensing something was off. She planned to interrogate Emma later, gently of course.

Upstairs, Emma led Lily to her room. "Pretty sure I still have your dragon pencil sharpener somewhere," she laughed, tossing her backpack in her desk chair.

Lily browsed the string of photos Emma had strung over her bookshelf, polaroids her mom had taken of them together, a few seasons of softball team pictures.

"Your mom seems nice," Lily said, scouting the bookshelf now. Emma still had her old storybooks displayed on the top shelf, but she didn't have anywhere else for them.

"She's pretty great."

"So what about your dad?"

Emma shrugged, stretching her legs out on her bedspread. "Don't know. I kind of figure he left us. She never talks about him."

"Do you even know his name?"

Emma glanced away, shaking her head.

"Maybe she left him." Lily perched next to her.

"I don't know." Emma shrugged again. "I don't really care. Its been fifteen years and counting without him, so I don't plan on him popping up any time soon. We do fine by ourselves."

Lily looked away, toying with a stray thread in the blanket.

"What about your parents?" Emma questioned.

"I don't have parents," Lily said, stiffening. "Even when you knew me in kindergarten, I was in a foster home. They moved me to this group home here because the family I was staying with finally chose to adopt."

Emma was quiet. Even though she didn't have a dad, she loved her mother a lot. And she couldn't imagine not having her. "They couldn't have kept you too?"

Lily's lips curled distastefully and she shook her head. "Once they find what they want, they're pretty quick to get rid of the other nuisances to their perfect family portrait. Besides, nobody would want me anyways."

"That's not true. You're cool. You're funny," Emma offered.

"Once you're over ten, its pretty difficult to get adopted."

"I don't see why. Family is family, regardless of how old you are. You don't just disappear from your parents' life once you turn eighteen."

Lily shrugged. "I guess that's how they see it. You aren't cute anymore. You're already screwed up."

"You don't seem screwed up."

Lily stood suddenly, crossing the room for the small array of nail polish Emma had on top of her dresser. "Let's stop talking about it." She plucked a dark blue polish from the row and sat back on the bed, uncapping it.

The girls came down to dinner with matching fingernails and toes, giggling happily. Emma's mother asked about school, and how Emma's project for English was going. She reminded her about the formal dinner this weekend, her first one since she'd forced her to join that stupid club.

So far, they'd learned the proper way to set a table, and which fork to choose when, and how to place your silverware when you were finished. She doubted she'd be using that any time soon.

After dinner, her mom offered Lily a ride home, but she refused.

"No, thank you. I live just a few blocks away."

"Are you sure? Its dark now."

"I can make it. Thank you for dinner, Miss Nolan," she said, seeing herself out after waving goodbye to Emma.

She helped her mother with the dishes, and cleared the kitchen.

"Oh, I found the prettiest dress for you to wear this weekend. I want to see you try it on," her mother begged.

"Ok fine." She succumbed easily, knowing she'd have to eventually. "Just tell me one thing. Its not pink, is it?"

"Its blue."

"Oh, thank God," Emma sighed dramatically.

Before the full length mirror in her mother's room, she turned side to side, inspecting the dress from all angles. "It isn't horrible," she conceded.

"It's pretty on you. Its nice with your complexion." Her mother fluffed the skirt, and Emma was at least thankful the dress wasn't a full ball gown. She wouldn't have known was to do with that. Probably trip over herself the entire night.

"Thanks, mom," she said, when she caught her mother looking wistfully into the mirror. For a moment, she could see how alike they looked. Everyone told her they looked alike, she just didn't always see it. She dropped her head onto her mother's shoulder, watching them standing together.

"I love you, Emma."

"I love you too."

Her mother straightened to kiss her cheek and turned to the bed where she'd laid out an old, other-worldly looking gown. She picked up a hair comb, a swan laid in gold on the top. Emma had seen it many times, and didn't know where it had come from. She just assumed it was some sort of family heirloom.

Her mother stepped behind her, threading her fingers through Emma's long hair to begin braiding it expertly.

"Mom…" Emma sighed. "Why don't you ever talk about my dad?"

She felt her fingers pause in her hair, and begin again slowly, hesitantly. She couldn't see her face anymore in the mirror, but she heard her take a breath.

"It was a very long time ago…" She started, like the stories Emma used to hear when she was younger. "We loved each other very much. There's never been another person who I felt that way about…and never will be again, I'm sure. But…things…didn't work out the way we thought. We lived far apart...and he had obligations…But he wanted you to have a good life, Emma. And I know…I know he loved you."

She pressed the swan haircomb into her hair, pulling a few strands forward to frame her face. The answer was vague, but she could accept it. She knew it was difficult for her mother to talk about, and didn't want to push her.

"There. You look beautiful."

She didn't miss the way her mother's voice shook.

She turned and hugged her close, burying her face in her thick, soft sweater. "Thanks for the dress, Mom."

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

-O-O-O-

 _The Evening Before the Formal_

"That's pretty. You should get it."

Emma turned her wrist back and forth, watching the blue and white stones in the bracelet catch the light. "I like it. It'll go with my dress."

Lily rolled her eyes. Emma hadn't needed convincing that the idea of cotillion dinners was stupid, but Lily was absolutely opposed.

The brunette turned, browsing a rack of earrings, shutting herself off like Emma noticed she had a habit of doing.

"I don't have the money for it," Emma said, placing the bracelet back on the counter.

She felt sort of awkward buying things around Lily. She and her mother weren't rich by any means, but she could tell Lily's clothes were secondhand and she just didn't want to make things weird. After what they'd talked about at her house a few days ago, she didn't want to touch any nerves.

Lily was beside her again, grabbing the bracelet and snapping off the tag, stuffing it in Emma's purse in one quick motion.

"What are you doing?" Emma hissed, instantly quiet when a sales woman walked by.

"I'm not doing anything," Lily said with a smirk. "You're doing all the work."

She slipped onto another aisle, pretending she hadn't just suggested Emma do something most certainly illegal.

Emma caught up with her, turning the corner once she was sure nobody had overseen their exchange. "Are you serious? Do you do this all the time? Is this some kind of…"

Lily planted a hand on her hip, tossing her ponytail over one shoulder.

"You said you liked it. You said you didn't have money for it."

"But that doesn't mean I want to…" mma started, her voice rising. Lily grabbed her hands, effectively silencing her and letting her eyes dart over her shoulder. A woman was passing, browsing the purse section all too slowly.

Once she had passed, Lily continued. "You can't tell me this doesn't feel just the least bit fun to you? Exciting? No one will ever even know." She smiled in assurance, and Emma tried to convince herself that this was one time thing. That the bracelet was pretty enough, and would definitely match her dress perfectly. And as she followed Lily out of the store, heart racing, she definitely—definitely—convinced herself that her mother was not going to find out under any circumstances.


	7. Chapter 7

_Massachusetts, August 1998_

The newspaper was thinning, fraying at the edges and yellowing, ink smudging away onto her fingers. She reached around, folding the paper neatly and stowing it in an empty, flat pocket of her backpack to keep it safe from the impending rain. Clouds thundered their threat, and she felt a little sprinkle on her shoulder. She tugged her hoodie closer around her, listening for the digits of her bus to be called over the loudspeaker.

She'd gotten out of that place as fast as she could. It had been three foster homes this year, and this one had been the worst. The foster dad was a drunk, and the mom was so passive everything that she'd just started to ignore it altogether, overlooking her five foster children as she drowned her own pain in her work. Lily had basically been in charge of the rest of them, the eldest kid in the house. She hadn't wanted to leave for their safety, but there was no way she could stay there. She needed to keep looking. Ever since she'd stumbled across this newspaper at the library, she'd decided it wasn't coincidence. Her family was out there somewhere and they were looking for her.

She'd stolen a wad of cash from her foster mother's purse and jetted, walking all the way to the bus station, arriving just before the downpour started.

The article in the newspaper told her that she had been adopted at some point. It wasn't like it fell through; she'd been there, in the column with all the other little babies who had homes and proper families. So what happened? Why did they change their minds? Wondering why almost hurt more than wondering why her birth parents had given her up in the first place. This is where she would start the search. Find the family that previously adopted her and go from there. It seemed as good a place ot start as any.

"Try reading today's news," someone behind her joked. She turned, following the boy behind her with her gaze as he sat next to her. He was young, maybe a few years older than herself, with a round face and a sturdy build. She thought about maybe scooting away, to the next bench. But he spoke before she could make up her mind.

"Where are you off to at this hour of night?"

She glared, looking him over. "None of your business."

He just smirked and nodded. "I guess. But a girl like you by herself, gripping some old newspaper like it's more precious than your last meal." His eyes met hers, knowingly. "You're looking for something."

Lily leaned away unconsciously. Who was this guy? He turned, facing forward again, watching a few buses zoom past.

"Nice birthmark by the way."

She didn't know how he'd seen it. Her secondhand hoodie nearly swallowed her slim figure. "Have you been following me?"

He shook his head. "No. No, nothing like that. I just notice things," he said vaguely. "You might say I'm looking for something as well." His expression changed and he watched the floor of the platform sullenly. "Probably the same thing you're looking for. Your family?"

He looked back up to her, and Lily should've stood up to run. But she stayed rooted to her spot.

"How did you know that?"

The boy shrugged. "Like I said, I just notice things. I could help you. If you wanted."

Lily shook her head, disbelieving. "Why would you do that?"

The boy grinned. "I've been looking for a long time. I've learned many things, about many different people. And I might just have some information that could help you out…Lily."

Her spine grew straight. She watched the boy's smile grow, seemingly pleased at her reaction.

"What do you know about me?" she whispered.

He didn't answer right away. He seemed to be considering for a moment. Plotting. "There's a lot to talk about. But first…" He stuck out his hand politely. "I'm Greg."

-O-O-O-

 _North Carolina, December 1998  
_ _Emma 15, Snow 43_

"Emma! You look beautiful!" she exclaimed, the bulb of the polaroid illuminating the living room for a split second.

"Mom..." Emma sighed, determined not to admit that she was enjoying this much more than she thought she would. Tonight was the final formal dinner of the season, the Winter Formal. And it was a big deal.

All the girls had been preparing and planning since before the season even began. Snow was surprised to see how anxious and excited Emma was about tonight; she knew Emma had had a crush on the boy escorting her tonight for quite some time. He was cute and nice, and at fifteen, that was all that really mattered.

Emma stood in the middle of their living room, in a gown of seemingly endless white, her hair curled and pinned to perfection by her mother, and a corsage of flowers at her wrist.

"You look like a..." Snow breathed, putting down the camera to really take it all in. "You look like a princess."

Even Emma couldn't hide her smile.

"It's all we ever wanted for you," she said, and Emma didn't have time to ask what she meant before the doorbell rang.

Her hands flew to her hair, to check her earrings, her reflection in the hall mirror. "He's here! Be cool!"

Snow watched, heart swelling to bursting as the boy helped her daughter in the car, opening the door and holding her hand like a proper gentleman. And in another world, in another time, she could almost imagine this a carriage, on the path outside of their castle, not a suburban street. She could imagine her daughter's first ball, and how any man worthy of her hand would absolutely swoon for the princess. And she'd follow her heart, refusing them all until she found the one that would settle for nothing less than her, and she him. Because through all these years, all Snow had wanted for her daughter was her happy ending.

-O-O-O-

She swept through the door, cheeks pink and hair slightly deflating from a night of dancing. Snow was waiting on the sofa with a book and a mug of hot chocolate.

"So how was it?" she quizzed, but Emma's telltale grin told her all she needed to know.

The girl plopped into the comfy arm chair in a fan of tulle and limbs, looking relieved to finally sit. "It was nice," she simply said, reaching under her skirts to pull off her heels. She wasn't nearly as giddy as when she'd left, probably exhausted, but still grinning suspiciously.

"Well what happened? Did you go anywhere after? Was there a goodnight kiss?"

Emma blushed, and rolled her eyes, throwing her a knowing smile. "We all went out for ice cream afterwards."

"And...?" Snow closed her book and scooted to the edge of the couch, poised and waiting.

"I don't kiss and tell, Mon," Emma said slyly, making her laugh. Before there could be anymore questions, she stood from the chair and announced she was heading to bed. Snow smiled as she made her way up the stairs, struggling against the sea of tulle surrounding her and dangling her shoes from her fingers. She didn't miss the smile, and even from her distance, she could see Emma's blush, sated and rosy pink in the dim living room light.

After she'd heard her daughter's bedroom door click closed, her thoughts turned to Charming. He needed to be here. To see her in her beautiful dress, filled with the flutter of a first kiss, with all the happiness they had always wished for her. He would've had her first dance at her first ball, and he would've been the one to berate the men who called on her, to ask question after question about this boy who'd kissed her goodnight and left her giddy and so unlike herself.

She set her book aside and clicked off the light, slipping silently up the stairs. It would not be long now. She had stopped keeping track of the time long ago, because it was oftentimes just too painful to think about how far they had yet to go. And then she could tell him everything about this little life they had made, and he could be a part of it like he was always meant to. Then, she wouldn't have to lie to Emma. Her father wouldn't have to be some figment that she knew little of, that seemed to have abandoned her. She would know him as the hero he was.

-O-O-O-

She hurried through the door, tugging off her hat and snapping her umbrella shut. Grocery bags slipped from her hands, landing by the door in the foyer. Even with the door closed, the howling gale outside wasn't quieted.

"Hi, Mom," Emma greeted, coming from the kitchen. "You need some help?"

She huffed, purse sagging off her shoulder. "Yes, thanks. The traffic was ridiculous. I nearly ran out of gas in the middle of the freeway. I could've sworn there was a twenty in my purse last night. Have you seen it anywhere? Maybe I left it on the counter."

"No. Haven't seen it." Emma moved to the kitchen, stacking away the groceries. Snow followed, tugging off her gloves.

"Is Lily coming over again for dinner tonight? I want you girls to have your homework finished by dinnertime. I won't be so lenient this time with the television."

"No. She's not. But I was hoping…maybe she could spend the night this weekend?"

Snow sighed, filling a glass of water and sitting at the breakfast bar to sort through the mail and find the missing twenty-dollar bill she knew she had not lost. "Sure, honey. That's fine," she said distractedly.

Once the weekend rolled around, Snow found herself confined to her bedroom while the girls ruled the house, the sounds of giggling and the smell of popcorn floating up her way every so often. Everything went smoothly, until Snow found her swan haircomb missing from her jewelry box the next morning after Lily had gone home.

She figured the money she'd been missing hadn't just been a coincidence.

The next night Lily was over for dinner, Snow managed to get her alone in the kitchen, washing the dishes, while Emma upstairs scrubbing a spaghetti stain from her blouse.

She passed a plate over to the girl to dry, and took her chance.

"So you think its right to steal money from people's purses?"

Lily took the dish, working slowly, feigning confusion. "I don't know what you mean."

"I was missing twenty dollars the other day. I know it wasn't Emma."

The dish landed in the rack with a clatter. "You'd be surprised what Emma's capable of," Lily said, managing a sweet tone around the blow.

Snow paused, snapping off the water faucet and turning to face the girl full on. "Believe me, I know a thing or two about stealing. I can spot a thief from a mile away. Especially a bad one."

Lily's lips curled. "Yeah. I'd bet so. You might say your story is legend."

Snow took a step back, realization flooding her. Her heart hammered an extra beat, but she didn't take her eyes off the girl.

"What do you know?"

Lily glared, then something soft and almost remorseful flashed in her eyes, but she steeled herself quickly. "I know everything."

"Have you told Emma?"

"Told me what?" Emma appeared in the doorway, wearing a clean shirt, hair in a sloppy ponytail.

Snow looked towards Lily, daring her to speak, but her gaze softened when she remembered her daughter. "Emma, I think I'll take Lily home. You can finish the dishes."

"O…k." Emma looked suspicious. "You don't want me to go?"

"Its getting late," Lily spoke up. "I'll see you at school, Emma."

In the car, the two ladies were silent. Snow didn't take her eyes off the road. She remembered when Lily and Emma had first met. Emma had told her that Lily's home life wasn't all it should be. She was a foster kid, and the neighborhood she lived in was shabby and all the houses seemed to be sinking away. It was sad to see, and Snow never wished that on any child, but she didn't wish broken friendships any more than she wished broken families.

"How did you find out about all this?" Snow asked finally.

"I've been researching for awhile." Her tone was clipped. She didn't want to be asked questions. Snow didn't care.

"Who told you?"

"None of your business, the way I see it."

"It is since you stole my property and knowingly befriended my daughter only to betray her."

"No," Lily started. "I'm not the one who betrayed her. And I didn't know who she was until I started coming to the house. I found the dress and the comb in your closet one afternoon before you got home from work."

"Why did you take it?"

"To tip you off, obviously. If I have to keep running from the consequences of magic, so do you."

Snow paused, stunned and shocked at how much pain this girl had to be carrying. What could have happened to her? In just a few words, she'd managed to expose her as a liar and a fraud, and she couldn't do anything to defend it. Because it was mostly true, even though she told herself it was in her daughter's best interest. She felt suddenly ill.

"That's…You wanted…You just wanted to hurt us," she stammered, disbelieving.

"Hurt people hurt people," Lily recited. "That's what my shrink says, anyways."

She didn't see it. She only saw her own gain. She only saw the wedge she could drive between them, and the divisiveness it would cause.

"One day, Lily, you'll have whatever you lost. I know that's true. You're bitter now, and that's probably warranted. But it won't always be that way. You have a family in our world that loves you, and wants you."

"Yeah, what do you know about family?"

At her driveway, Snow slowed to a stop and Lily opened the door, letting the brisk night air in, and it chilled Snow through her coat.

She was right. What did she know?

-O-O-O-

Emma was still awake when she got home, sitting in bed with the lamp on and a book overturned in her lap, arms crossed.

"Still awake?" Snow asked, stopping at her doorway.

She shrugged and didn't meet her eyes, staring into the corner. Snow never felt distant from her daughter in the past, but there were times now when she thought maybe Emma was pushing her away. Like she was putting up walls between them, and Snow was outside, uncertain of how to get back in. She chalked it up to her age, but this felt different. Snow leaned her shoulder against the door-jamb, emotionally vexed. "You're mad about earlier."

Emma shrugged again, glaring out the window. Snow wasn't sure whether to press or not.

"You trust me right?"

Finally, Emma turned, appraising her, giving her consent to step into the room fully. "Of course."

She took the few steps to cross the room and sat on the edge of her daughter's bed, smoothing hand over the floral patchwork quilt. Emma sat still, arms still over her chest.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you, Emma…"

"Ok…." Emma looked suspicious. "About what?"

"There's just things…things you won't be able to understand until you're older."

There it was again. The lying. The confusion. Snow squeezed her eyes shut. It had been a long time since she'd felt this…lost.

"Like what? Mom…." Emma narrowed her eyes, watching intensely.

"I…" Snow began, taking a breath. "…was planning for us to move after the holidays."

Emma sat up, pushing the blankets away. "What?"

"I just think…it'd be good for us."

"Why? Everything's fine here! My friends, and school, and that stupid cotillion stuff…" Emma looked away, more hurt than Snow could remember seeing her. She sighed and put a hand over hers, but Emma jerked away. "That's what you were talking about?"

"No…"

"Then what?" Emma blasted.

"Emma…" Snow sighed.

"Why are you always doing this? Why are you always changing things when everything's perfectly fine? We're always alone. Its like you don't want me to get close to anyone."

She reached for her again, but Emma shifted back.

"Its what happened to Maureen and everybody else. Is it what happened with my dad too?"

Snow leaned back, watching her, warning her. The events of the night finally weighed fully on her, and she couldn't help herself. "What's gotten in to you?"

"What's gotten in to me? How about the fact that you're never honest with me, no matter how much you pretend you are. I know the stuff you made up about him was a lie. I know we left Massachusetts because you got scared. I just don't know why. I just wish you would tell me."

In the low light, the tears in her daughter's eyes glinted, and it was all Snow could do keep her composure. She wanted to tell her. She nearly had so many times. She had worried that Emma would be confused, but for the first time she worried about how the truth would affect herself. Emma would think she was crazy. After all this lying, how was she supposed to convince Emma that this, which sounded less true than anything else, was real? Was their life? She would lose Emma forever. She couldn't do that. It would be worse than being cursed into forgetting her altogether.

She shook her head, rising from the bed. She felt the prickle of tears in her own eyes, and the weight of Emma's words in her stomach like a blow. "You're grounded," she said evenly, watching Emma glare up at her in pure distrust, watching tears finally drip over her cheeks.

"And we _are_ leaving."

-O-O-O-

AN: So I just want to clarify that as far as this story goes, Charming and Snow never made the deal with the Apprentice to trade Lily for Emma's goodness, Malficent did hatch an egg. In Chapter 6 of this story, Lily was born just before the curse, and transferred into a portal after Maleficent made a deal with Rumplestiltskin.

I just think Charming and Snow making that deal was entirely out of character. I just prefer to think Lily was bad simply because of similar reasons that Emma is guarded. Because of the lack of family and the parts of your personality you derive from a relationship with others.

If you need a timeline of things that have happened so far:

 **In the Enchanted Forest, just before the curse:** Snow and Charming deal with their reservations about sending Emma into the new world, and giving up their family. Maleficent makes a deal with Rumplestiltskin to show her how to open a portal and save her daughter who is soon to be born from the curse. She must pay the price of staying in her dragon form until the curse is broken.  
 **August 1983:** Lily arrives in Massachusetts through the portal formed by her mother, and is found on the highway.  
 **October 1983:** Snow and Emma arrive in Massachusetts through the wardrobe. At the same time, the inhabitants of the Enchanted Forest are cursed to Storybrooke.  
 **1987:** Emma attends kindergarten with Lily.  
 **May 1998:** Lily runs away from home and meets Owen/Greg at the bus station.  
 **August 1998:** Emma starts high school in North Carolina, and meets back up with Lily who is in a foster home in the same town.

I'll keep adding to this timeline every now and then if you guys want? Cuz things might get crazy :)

Also I know some of my reviewers had concerns in the last chapter about how long Snow has kept the truth from Emma. Hopefully that's cleared up now, now that she sees the consequences of that and how its threatened Emma's trust.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: A bit of a time skip in the middle of this chapter. Hope you don't mind, since I'm trying to move the plot along.

-O-O-O-

 _Portland, Oregon, January 1999  
_ _Emma 15, Snow 43_

"Have you seen the box with my coats in it?"

"Not yet."

Emma sighed grumpily and disappeared around the corner again.

They hadn't been on the best of terms since everything happened. Since they left North Carolina. Snow had virtually been subject to the silent treatment, only spoken to if Emma was forced, or had a dire question to ask. They'd been here two days, and Emma's attitude had only darkened since they'd arrived. It wasn't because of the weather.

She wondered how long it would take for her icy demeanor to resolve itself. Next week, she'd start school. A private school, much to Emma's chagrin. But given the circumstance, she didn't express her dissatisfaction too much. She figured she didn't want to push her luck; there was still some semblance of a friendship between them, after all. Though she knew it would be awhile before her daughter trusted her again. That part stung.

It hadn't been her intention to push her away, but she supposed it was inevitable. She just how to figure out how to be honest with her without shoving her further away.

She sliced open a box of books, finding a stack of Emma's old storybooks, mingled with some newer ones she'd collected. She managed to haul the stack to Emma's bedroom doorway. "I found some books of yours," she told her. Emma sat on her bare mattress, facing away from her, picking apart a handful of packing peanuts, letting the bits flutter to the clean carpet like snowflakes.

Snow huffed, leaning a palm against the door frame. "Can you put them away please?"

Silence.

"Look, Emma. I'm trying to…" She sighed, cutting herself short. "You're going to have to talk to me eventually."

"Eventually being the key word," Emma snapped over her shoulder.

"Ok. Fine. I'm ordering a pizza, so…Come out of your royal bedchamber in thirty minutes," she shot back with a roll of her eyes.

She gave up on unpacking and instead decided to hem Emma's school uniform jacket. She was perched on their couch in a sea of boxes and bubble wrap, sewing when the pizza arrived. She heard the thump of Emma's converse in the hall and resigned herself to a silent dinner over the coffee table.

"What's that?" Emma asked over her first slice, nodding towards the jacket Snow had draped over the arm of the couch.

"Your school uniform," she replied, relieved they were at least speaking.

Emma looked dejected suddenly, and tried to hide her disappointment behind her food. "I don't want to go to that stupid school," she said after a minute.

"Well you are," she answered curtly.

Emma looked like she was going to give her rebuttal, but instead stayed silent. She finished her pizza with no other complaints or comments, and retreated back to her room silently.

After another hour of unpacking, Snow passed Emma's room to click off the kitchen light, and heard her rummaging around. She cracked open the door. Emma was cross-legged on the floor, finally stacking her books away into the bookshelf.

"Hey…" She stepped fully inside, and though Emma threw her a halfhearted glare for not knocking, she knew her guards were down. "Just came to say goodnight."

Emma kept working.

"Emma, how long are we going to do this?" she sighed. "How long are you going to be mad at me?"

She watched her daughter's shoulders bow and her hands fall still. "I'm not mad at you."

Snow sighed, picking up a scrapbook of photos Emma had discarded on the floor.

"I just liked things where we were, ya know? I mean, I know you didn't like Lily all that much, but she was my friend. And I was finally starting to get close to people." Emma didn't look so put off now. Now she just looked disappointed, and Snow wasn't sure which one was worse.

"I'm having to start all over again at a new school for sophomore year, and…" She sighed, and Snow crouched beside her, sitting cross-legged with the scrapbook between them.

"I just want us to be honest with each other."

Snow looked up and met her daughter's eyes, which matched her own so perfectly. The girl was growing up to look just like her, except for her fair hair. That was all Charming.

"I do too," she said decidedly, but before she could continue, Emma was up and rummaging in a nearby box. She found what she was looking for and held out her little silver jewelry box.

She flipped open the lid and held out a blue bracelet, stones glinting in the light from the lamp on the empty dresser.

"I took this. From the store. With Lily. I wasn't going to tell you. Honestly, I was hoping you'd never find out. But…I don't know…I just want us…to maybe start off on a clean slate?"

Snow reached out for the bracelet, taking it from her hands so she could clasp them in her own. "Absolutely."

"Good." Emma leaned over to wrap her around her, and Snow squeezed her just a little too tightly.

"You were right. I did lie about your dad," she said when she pulled away.

"Its ok. You don't have to tell me now. Its obviously difficult to talk about."

Snow sighed, gripping Emma's hands. "I just want you to know that he was a good man. He isn't here not because he didn't want to be."

Emma nodded. "I know."

"Ok." Snow felt the familiar sting of tears in her eyes and stood. "Well, don't stay up too late. I'm thinking we should go sight seeing tomorrow. Figure out the best place to have hot chocolate."

Emma smiled. "Ok. Goodnight, Mom."

Snow picked up the scrapbook, planning to add the pictures she'd stashed away of Emma's Winter Formal, and the first days of high school once she'd found them in all the chaos of boxes.

"Hey, Mom."

She turned.

"I love you."

It was difficult this time not to cry. Because though she knew Emma's disappointment was still there, and that she had no incentive to try to like this place, and try to accept that this was the way things were now, she was going to make it work. For her mother's sake.

"I love you too, Emma. Goodnight."

She made appoint to find the pictures, at the bottom of a box she'd shoved in the closet to be sorted later, along with her polaroid camera. After she'd glued them to the last blank page, she flipped forward, back to the beginning.

-O-O-O-

 _Portland, Oregon, March 3_ _rd_ _, 2001  
_ _Emma 17, Snow 45_

Most days, she walked by herself home from school. If she was honest, it was that she just wanted to be alone after eight hours in hell. Sure, there were people she could walk with. But she preferred the alone time.

Even after two years here, she didn't really feel connected to anybody, and she hadn't made too many strong friendships. That was fine by her. She just wished she could shake the weird feeling she got every time she was just starting to get close to people. Like she didn't belong. Like there was something more, or different. She didn't know which. Maybe it was the same feeling her mother got, and now she could understand why they'd never stayed anywhere long.

This afternoon was beautiful, and spring was just beginning to set in. Which for Portland meant rain. But not today. It was quiet, and bright and peaceful. Exactly what she needed with the piles of homework she'd been given. Her mother had insisted she take advanced classes, and while that was fine—she was pretty good in school—sometimes she just wanted a break.

She'd nearly made it to their building when someone shoved her sideways, towards the street. She hardly had time to react or even trip over the curb before whoever-it-was was off with her purse, charging down the sidewalk away from her.

Before she could give any conscious thought, she was after him, her converse slamming into the pavement, uniform skirt swinging around her legs.

They made it two blocks before the guy took a sharp turn, avoiding the oncoming traffic at the crosswalk, and she followed, shouting for him to stop, and a few other colorful words her mother would've been aghast to hear.

Before he could reach the end of the alley, she tackled him, throwing her weight against him and sending him tumbling to the pavement, the contents of her purse spilling over the sidewalk. She fell too, and landed on her hands and knees, panting. His hood was shadowing his face when she looked up at him, but there was something familiar in his expression that almost took her aback. He had plenty of scruff and soft brown eyes that almost looked boyish. He couldn't be more than a few years older than her. She stared few more seconds, trying to figure out where to place him.

Then he smirked.

Tension shifted and she stood up, brushing off her hands and grabbing her purse where it was discarded on the sidewalk. She'd nearly forgotten about the familiar something about him, just wanting to get out of here before he tried anything else.

"You're bleeding," he said, rising.

She ignored him. What was this guy trying to do now? Have a tea party? She flung the strap over her shoulder and turned to run, trying to get out of here as fast as she could, forgetting the tubes of lip-gloss and change and disregarded receipts that littered the ground of the alley.

"I said your knee is bleeding."

He grabbed her elbow, and she wrenched away.

"Back off, asshole," she shot, narrowly missing his face with the back of her hand, and he held his hands up like a caught criminal.

"Whoa, princess. I didn't mean…"

Emma felt her blood boil. "You didn't mean what? You didn't _mean_ to steal my purse? You didn't realize I was going to chase you three city blocks?"

He just grinned again, stupidly, and if she would've cared enough, she would've punched him.

"My dad's a cop," she lied confidently. "So stay the hell away from me."

And with that, she was gone, glancing behind her just once to watch him, standing stoically in the alleyway with his hands in his jacket pockets. She made sure he wasn't following her, and turned before she normally would've to use the side street entrance to their building. She wouldn't be too careful next time.

Her mother wasn't home, thankfully. It gave her time to wind down. She wasn't going to tell her. Though their lying and tip-toeing around each other seemed long gone, there were just some things she didn't need to know. And if she found out that Emma had almost been mugged walking home, there would probably be a change of address involved.

She tended to her knee and changed into some sweats so her mother wouldn't notice, and began her homework.

She didn't exactly consider herself the best student, nor did she really care to. But they were studying Shakespeare this year, and she was a little too into it. She didn't see how people could think this was boring. She was a bookworm, it was true. Her mom often made fun of her for always carrying around a new paperback novel in her bag anywhere she went. Now she had all of these plays to sink her teeth into and analyze. It was like solving a crime.

She was halfway through Twelfth Night when her mother came through the door, looking disheveled and deflated after work.

"Hi, Mom," she said, walking into the living room with her nose still in her book, a bag of chips in her free hand.

"Hi," she replied, looking upset, tossing her purse onto the counter.

"What's up?" Emma slid onto a barstool at the breakfast bar and turned the book over once she'd reached the end of the scene.

"I got asked on a date," her mother said, searching for a quick dinner in the cabinets.

"Again?" Emma almost didn't hold back her laugh.

"Yes, again," she sighed dejectedly.

"And you said no."

"Of course I said no."

"You should say yes, sometime, Mom. You're hot. That's why they keep asking."

"Emma!" She turned from the cabinets, looking shocked.

"Ok, geez. Sorry. You're looking really old." She held out a chip in an unmoved gesture before popping it into her mouth.

"You're going to ruin your dinner," her mother scolded, turning to find the bread. "How about grilled cheese?"

"Ok." She thought about telling her about the almost-mugging, to see if it would top her being asked out on the ninth date this year. She didn't.

"So…my baby will be ready next week."

"Excuse me?" Her mother paused, gripping the knife she was buttering the bread with a little too tightly.

"The car, Mom," she reminded her. The 1973 Beetle she'd had her eye on since the day she turned sixteen, sitting shining and waiting for her in the corner of the car lot like buried treasure.

"Right. I'm still not used to the fact that you'll be driving."

"Well, it'll be safer than walking home from school, that's for sure."

"What happened walking home from school?"

"Nothing." Emma crunched into another chip, flipping her book back over to keep reading.

-O-O-O-

 _March 20_ _th_ _, 2001_

Her mother had assumed that once she finally picked her car up from the shop, she would never be home. And she was right. She'd started a new habit of finishing homework at coffee shops and bookstores around town after school instead of heading straight home. Freedom, and an awesome car. It was a win-win situation.

This afternoon, she was holed up in a tiny bookshop, taking up an entire table with tomes of Shakespeare and piles of notes. Her report was due next week, and she was on a roll.

She didn't even look up when she sensed someone standing too close, until that someone cleared their throat.

She glanced up and back down again, doing a double take. It was the guy. The robber. The guy with the attractive brown eyes and the familiar expression.

"Hi," he said with a wide, satisfied grin.

"Stalker!" she said loudly, earning glares from the people around her.

"How you been, princess?" He stretched his palms out over the table.

"Gonna steal my car this time?" she accused, looking back down at her books. She wasn't worried this time, not in a space with so many people around. If she didn't kick his ass, someone else would.

"It'd be pretty easy. You got a screwdriver handy?"

Now she looked up with a disbelieving grin, glasses and ponytail crooked. "Have a seat, John Dillinger." She gestured to the seat across from her.

He flopped down heavily. "What are you studying?" He asked, leaning the chair back lazily on two legs.

"Shakespeare." She was back to reading, scribbling notes every so often.

"What's so interesting about some old dead guy?"

She paused, slightly annoyed that he was breaking her concentration. "Did you know he wrote in iambic pentameter? A line would have five iambs, or an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed one, making up ten syllables in total. Sometimes, he wrote in a different form, and scholars have been researching why for years."

"Maybe he just felt like it." The guy smirked and leaned forward again, the chair thumping loudly against the floor.

"Maybe." She smiled. She'd been working on this report for the past three weeks, and was nearly at that conclusion herself. "I'm Emma."

It was ridiculous. Sitting here with this guy who'd tried to mug her just a week ago. But now, in this setting, she didn't feel threatened.

"I'm Neal." He leaned over the table, crossing his arms against the Formica.

Fifteen minutes later, she'd forgotten she was supposed to be finishing her report, and was laughing at some stupid joke he'd told. And when she gathered her books to leave, he followed her out.

"So now what? You're going to follow me like a lost puppy until you romance me into letting you steal from me again?" she said with a smirk, heading for her car where it was parallel parked. "You knew I didn't have any money anyways."

Neal shrugged. "Maybe it was because I have a thing for girls in uniform." He pouted, brown eyes wide.

She wrinkled her nose, not sure if she should take offense or be intrigued. "You're crazy."

"Probably." He leaned against her passenger door, blocking her from throwing her bag inside.

"Can I get in my car please?" she asked.

"After you agree to get a drink with me."

She scoffed. "I'm not drinking with you. I'm not even twenty-one," she mumbled, trying to inch around him.

"Neither am I."

"Oh, am I supposed to be impressed?"

"I am." She couldn't protest the way he looked at her then. She could read it all in his eyes. There no dishonesty. There was hurt, and the hope that she'd be the one to resolve it. She paused, fumbling with her keys.

"I…I really need to go," she said quietly.

"Ok." He moved away from the door without further protest.

She tossed her bag inside and the door shut with a rattle. He was a few yards up the street when she called his name again. She didn't know why she'd done it. She shouldn't have, she knew. But there was something about him. Something she understood.

He turned, and she gestured with the hand that still gripped her keys, haplessly trying to find the words.

"About that drink. How…how about coffee sometime?"

He grinned. "Sure."


	9. Chapter 9

_Portland, Oregon  
_ _April 7_ _th_ _, 2001  
_ _Emma 17, Snow 45_

She giggled behind him, stumbling up the steps of the carousel as he pulled her along into the halo of glinting lights and chain swings swaying in the evening breeze.

"This is so illegal!" she hissed and he tossed her a smirk that silently asked why it mattered. She balanced her coffee in one hand and perched in the seat he offered, holding up the safety bar for her.

Her feet pushed against the reflective floor, making the seat sway back and forth while he situated himself on his own swing. She looked down at the paper cup in her hands, considering.

"So why did you choose this?" she asked, now serious.

Neal kicked off hard, his swing twisting and tangling the chains. The round beads of carnival lights flickered cheerfully above them in optimism and opportunity.

"No guards," he said easily, stopping to face her again.

"No, not the place." She paused, catching his eyes knowingly.

"Oh you mean my business endeavors?" He threw her a wink and she grinned.

"Yeah. That."

"Sometimes you have to do things you don't want to, or didn't plan to, in order to survive," he said quietly, turning sober.

She didn't really believe it, and obviously it wasn't the whole story. But it would do for now.

"So…you're alone. Where are your parents?"

Neal twisted the seat, facing her again. "My mom died…a very long time ago." He glanced away, out into the open and empty grounds of the carnival. "And my dad wasn't…He just wasn't…" He paused. The swing swayed gently when he picked up his feet. Emma suddenly noticed how silent the normally bustling carnival grounds were.

"Its ok," she said after a beat. Her voice was softer than she expected, and she suddenly found the lid of her coffee cup all too interesting. "My dad isn't around either. I don't even know if he's still alive."

Neal glanced over to her, planting himself so the swing couldn't move. He didn't speak, and she wondered at the serious glower that creased his features all of a sudden.

"What is it?" The toes of her shoes inched along the floor of the carousel, bringing her seat closer to his.

"Nothing." He sighed, drumming his fingers over his own coffee cup. "Just…" He looked as if he were about to say something, then talking himself out of it. "I just want you to be careful."

"Ok." She laughed the word. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're a good girl, Emma. I've screwed up everything I ever put my hand to. It runs in the family."

"it doesn't have to," she said decidedly. "And if you're worried about ruining my virtue, maybe you should've thought about that before you decided to steal my purse."

He chuckled, leaning back. "Touché."

"Come on." She stood, pulling up the bar holding her in the seat. She reached for his hand and hauled him up. "You showed me your spot, let me show you mine."

He left the gate open, didn't even bother hooking the lock back in or shutting off the lights of the carousel. She didn't ask. She just drove the bug out of the city, where the streetlights were dim and few, stopping near a clearing and pulling onto a dead-end path that had been carved by bike tires and cars. She laughed when he gripped the rim of the roof out the window as they charged over rocks and tree roots. This car really had horrible shocks, she couldn't lie. She stopped at the edge of a hill, where the trees gapped to provide the perfect view of the city, lights glinting and the tips of the glowing buildings like castle spires on the black sky.

"Cool," he said, leaning forward in the passenger seat.

"Yeah. And we didn't even have to break the law to see it," she teased. When she looked to him, his eyes were dark and cast down towards the floorboards. She ducked her head, trying to get him to make eye contact.

"What?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing. Nothing." He shook his head. A grin turned the corner of his mouth upwards.

She didn't push. She leaned back into her seat, looking out over the cityscape again. They watched in silence nearly a quarter of an hour, until she was yawning and he was insisting she drive back before she was too tired. She honestly didn't even know what hour it was right now. She dropped him off across from a building with a graffiti-riddled exterior where he said his friend's apartment was, and watched him go inside. He turned and waved to her before disappearing.

The next afternoon, when she came from her usual coffee shop, textbooks stacked against her chest, there was a note stuffed in the space between the door handle of her car. Sketched across the unfolded cocktail napkin was the Portland skyline, with detailed accuracy. In the bottom corner, the initials NC were twined together next to the date.

-O-O-O-

 _May 30_ _th_ _, 2001_

He was elusive. At the beginning, she wouldn't see him for a few days and suddenly he'd appear wherever she was, at a coffee shop or a diner or out with her friends. For the past two weeks however, they'd been together every day, Emma's new freedom from school for the summer break set her in a giddy spin and it had been purely amazing. Something about him made her feel at home, like after all this time she'd finally found somewhere and someone to belong with that wasn't her mother.

She didn't have to feel listless with him, like she wasn't sure what to say or how to respond. Everything was natural. And everything was exciting and new and unexplored. They had never defined anything, never talked about it. She just sort of fell in step beside him, and suddenly he was kissing her goodnight or introducing himself as her boyfriend.

They'd wrangled her a fake ID and found a bar with a live show, and she'd be lying if she denied she'd gotten a little more than tipsy. Now they sat in her car where it was parallel parked in front of her apartment building, windows fogged and Emma's hair band around his wrist where he'd looped it after he tugged it out. One of her hands tried to find purchase on the edge of his seat while the other ducked bravely under his t-shirt.

She pulled away from his lips and he chased her, but she spoke before he could catch her again. "Meet my mom," she insisted.

He laughed, meeting her again for another kiss. "You're drunk."

But she pulled away again, meeting his eyes and looking somber.

"You're serious?" he almost laughed.

"Why not?" She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his.

"Parents don't like me," he said, removing his hands from her waist, bringing them to her elbows.

'It isn't like she's a royal. She's just my mom. It'll be fine."

He still looked uncertain. "Right now?"

"Tomorrow. For dinner?" She smiled wide, pressing her hand over his.

He made a noise like a scoff, glancing toward the window. "Seriously? She's gonna meet your ripped-jean-sloppy-hoodie boyfriend? You think she's gonna appreciate that?"

She leaned in, pulling him close, effectively silencing him. "I don't care."

-O-O-O-

 _May 31_ _st_ _, 2001_

He showed up in the best jeans he had and a wrinkled button down, and Emma assured him it was just fine. She had on a pretty blue dress, and he felt totally out of place beside her. Her mother was kind and chipper, with black hair streaked in grey and a knowing smile. But she still looked at him in that suspicious way that made him feel uneasy, even when they were all eating contentedly around the table.

"So you're from Portland?"

Neal shifted in his chair, under Emma's mother's gaze. "I move around a lot. I mean…I have."

"And your family?"

"I don't have any," Neal answered, never feeling so small in his life. "I've been on my own for sometime now."

"I see. That's why you move a lot?"

"Yes ma'am." He didn't miss the woman's amused grin.

"Sorry for all the questions. I'm just trying to understand what your intentions are with my daughter."

"Mom," Emma hissed almost silently, embarrassed.

"I understand," Neal agreed, nodding. "I think Emma's fantastic. And I've got no intention of hurting her."

"Hmm. That remains to be seen," her mother said, managing an even and diplomatic tone, her real opinion hidden just visible behind her eyes. And it didn't look good. Neal forced a chuckle and ducked his head, finishing off his dinner in record time, wishing he'd left some to chew around while the women finished theirs.

On the doorstep, he bristled when Emma took his hand.

"That was horrible."

"It was fine. She's just…super protective."

"She has good reason to be." Neal ducked his head, but Emma met his eyes.

"Stop doing that. Stop being self-depreciating," she asked. "Don't worry about what she thinks."

He nodded, still looking unconvinced. Like there was more he wanted to say. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Ok." She leaned up for a kiss, and he was gone.

Inside, her mother was working on clearing the table, stacking dishes in the sink.

"Well that was interesting," her mother said, her back turned. She wasn't primed to fight, but Emma definitely was.

"You embarrassed me. You embarrassed _him."_ Emma planted her hands on her hips, fixing her with a glare. "What happened? I wanted to introduce you to somebody I care about, and you act like…like that!"

"Emma, that boy is…I just get this feeling about him. That he isn't all you think he is." She turned, leaning back against the counter, a decided look on her face that made Emma fume.

"Why?"

Snow sighed. She couldn't point it out just yet. "He's just not for you."

"Not for me, what's that supposed to mean?"

"He's just sloppy and…strange…and not for you."

"Wow, could you be any more discreet? I mean what do you think this is? Are you picking a suitor for me?"

"Emma, I'm not trying to be a villain, here. I'm trying to…help you see what's best!" She scrubbed a dishtowel over her hands though they were thoroughly dried by now.

Emma's hands flew from her sides, gesturing wildly. "Here we go again with the same old thing. You're pushing away happiness, anybody's happiness, just like you always do."

"That's not true. And is isn't what this is about." This age-old argument had always left Snow on the short end of the stick, but this time the stakes cost Emma's heart, and Snow wasn't willing to sacrifice that. "That's not what I'm doing. I'm telling you that you're going to get hurt. I'm telling you that I just get this feeling about him that something isn't right, Emma. And what kind of mother would I be if I didn't tell you that? If I didn't protect you."

"I'm tired of you protecting me, ok? Let me decide for once."

"If you want to be an adult, Emma, act like one. You're seventeen. You're my daughter, which means I make decisions in your best interest. And believe it or not, you _are_ a child. Which is precisely why I'm treating you like one." The dish towel slapped against the counter where she tossed it.

"And you're being so…close-minded!"

"Emma! I'm your mother!" Snow raised her voice finally, silencing further argument.

Emma waited, pacing away from the counter like a coiling viper. "I don't care," she spat and turned for the stairs.

Snow sighed, glancing down into the sink of soaking dishes still in need of washing. She was too exhausted now to even try. She flicked off the lights and retreated to her own room. There were so many things about this world that she didn't understand. So many things Emma was facing that just didn't happen, and wouldn't have happened had everything turned out as it should've. Snow wondered if they'd ever have an easy go of this.

-O-O-O-

 _June 1_ _st_ _, 2001_

"Tell me the whole story."

"About what?"

"About your parents," she dared, finding his hand between them, clenched in the grass. She twined their fingers.

"Why?" He looked over at her, eyes glinting even in the moonlight.

"I want to know. I want to know your beginnings. I…" She wanted to know something real. Something that wasn't lies fabricated for her supposed safety.

"I just want to know," she confirmed, inching closer. His arm settled over her shoulders. The blanket they'd laid out wrinkled beneath them.

"I don't talk about this. Ever. I've done my best to forget it even happened. I've gotten so good at it…well, let's just say it feels like a lifetime ago."

"Its ok." Her glasses pressed against her nose when she leaned into his chest.

"Um, well," he started, finding his words, shifting beneath her. "My father was…a powerful man, and a controlling man. That's always how I knew him. Everyone was afraid of him, afraid of even speaking with him. Of associating with me, even. So, we were pretty isolated. My mother left when I was very young, and it wasn't until after I finally left his house that I found out she'd died. Once I left…well, I kind of just wandered around. Trying to find home, acceptance. I don't know. But I guess the wandering never stopped."

"I can understand that. The wandering part." She sat up, leaning on her elbows. "It sounds really weird…but I just don't fit here. At least I don't feel like it. Its always like I'm disengaged from everything going on around me…Like I was supposed to have been born somewhere else, living some other life. Is that crazy?" She looked to him, laying on his side with his arm tucked up under his head, watching her like she'd cast the moonlight herself.

"No. Not at all."

She turned over on her belly, still on her elbows, a bit closer to him. "Would it be crazy to say…" She ducked her head, worrying her lip between her teeth. "Would it be crazy to tell you that you're the first person I feel like I'm at home around?"

He didn't answer, but the shadow of his smile answered her question, and his hand on her cheek, pulling her closer til there was no more space, silenced any further unease she had.

-O-O-O-

 _June 20_ _th_ _, 2001_

The door creaked open, slowly. She paused at the doorway to lock the deadbolt and slip the chain back in, trying to be as quiet as possible. The dark room suddenly flooded with light from the lamp in the open living room, and her heart flattened into her stomach. She was close, but not close enough.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Her mother's voice was sharp and dark all at once, low in the dim room.

"Mom…" she sighed, turning to face her. A cold mug of cocoa was on the end table with a novel she'd stolen from Emma's shelf, turned spine up. Her mother was in her pajamas, but despite the hour, didn't look even close to sleep. "I know. I'm sorry," she said, trying to soothe her though she knew it was for naught.

"You had me so worried, Emma," she breathed, too tired now to yell, much to Emma's relief.

"I'm just going to go to bed." Emma turned for the stairs.

"With no explanation as to where you've been?" she asked, and Emma's spine ran with a shiver.

"I'm tired, mom," she said quietly over her shoulder.

"I would expect so," she said, and the guilt trip was enough to make Emma's resolve snap. She spun, facing her mom full on.

"Are you serious right now? Can we just do this tomorrow?"

"Oh, I'm not arguing. I'm not telling you I told you so. That's not what this is." Her mother held up a hand. "I'm just asking you to think about the way you've been behaving. The things you've done recently. This isn't Emma."

"Yeah, well maybe you don't know me that well."

She watched her mother's mouth press into a thin line, the line of her lashes fall closed, and knew she'd said enough. "Goodnight, Emma." She dismissed her, like a subject from a throne room, and Emma turned, heading up the stairs solemnly. As much as she'd convinced herself that this was ok, and that her mother just didn't get it. As much as her distaste for her mother's dishonesty had grown within her, she could chase away the spark of blame that pressed somewhere deep inside her chest.

The spark that told her that her simple words had done their damage and left it irreparable.


	10. Chapter 10

_Portland, Oregon  
_ _August 1st, 2001_

She didn't expect things to have taken off so fast. She didn't expect to be in this deep after only a summer. It was very likely that she could call this love, because who really knew what that was anyways? It felt right. It felt good, and that was the only definition she needed.

Sometimes he'd get lost, seemingly worlds away though he was right next to her. Especially when he drew. Sometimes, in conversation he'd do that thing. When he ducked his head and turned his eyes away, almost uncertainly. It set worry in her stomach, but he'd quell it later when he had her pressed against the cool yellow metal of the back door of her bug, kissing her goodnight. So she went along with it, a quiet itch in the back of her mind always reminding her of the precipice this rested on. As if in an instant some spell would break and it would fall away before her eyes.

She could live in this moment. She didn't know how long she'd have it.

-O-O-O-

 _October 3_ _rd_ _, 2001_

It wasn't long before the forest was seen for the trees. When suddenly the air in the little bathroom seemed too thin, and she had to count to twenty before she could draw another breath. It wasn't long before the scope focused and everything her mother had been saying echoed in her mind.

The stick in her hands, with its mocking pink lines, as if this was happy. And wanted. And ok. As if cute colors would lend something to relieve the pressure of the weight on her chest.

She tossed it away, poking it deep into the bottom of the trashcan. What the hell was going to happen now?

-O-O-O-

 _October 22_ _nd_ _, 2001_

She was relieved when he suggested they needed to talk before she could ask.

"I have some things I really need to tell you." He poked into his paper bag of French fries, leaned into the driver's seat. She let him drive now and then, though she was better with the stick.

"I haven't been entirely honest," he admitted. She looked out over the Portland horizon, remembering the first time she'd driven him up here to her spot, when things had been simpler and new.

"OK," she breathes, ducking deeper into her hoodie. She wondered when it was going to be too small for her.

"I'm not twenty. I'm…twenty-three."

The first swirls of nausea start in her belly.

"I just wanted to tell you that, and say I'm sorry. Because I knew it was never a good idea. I knew what I was getting myself into. Hell, you had a school uniform on. I could've guessed… I just…I know it was awful. And if it ends things, I understand."

Her mind swam, and it wasn't until she looked back up to the lights of the city that she realized she was crying. Tears blurred the buildings into long glowing fingers, reaching into the dark sky.

"Emma?"

His voice was quiet, even worried. The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"I'm pregnant."

She knew his short intake of breath was silent, but it rattled the car just the same. She waited for him to say something, to apologize. To curse, to tell her he wasn't able to handle this. But he was silent, so she spoke first.

"You manipulated me."

"That wasn't my intention."

"But you did."

"Emma, don't try and act like you're the innocent one here." He said it, but to her it sounded like a snarl. It took a few seconds for her to even raise her hands to her face to wipe her cheeks.

"I trusted you," she whispered.

"Trust isn't fool-proof," he said.

Her eyes screwed shut, and she tried to even out her breathing, swallowing back a sob growing in her chest. "I hate you."

"Don't lie to yourself, Princess."

Without direction, he put the car in drive and sped back into the city. She didn't speak, didn't even look at him. Embarrassment and fear and hatred all stirred within her in a haze she couldn't distinguish. She felt a pang of nausea, and not the kind she would've expected. She nearly asked him to pull over, but decided on avoiding conversation. By the time they'd made it to her street, she'd steadied herself enough to duck out of the car without shaking hands.

The keys were sharp and cold in her palm when he tossed them to her, turning to walk away down the sidewalk with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.

-O-O-O-

Something just didn't feel right. This wasn't an affect of her usual restlessness. The house was dark and silent, but Snow could feel something off in the atmosphere. She sat up, pushing away her blankets and shuffling into the kitchen. Cocoa took just minutes to make, and it should've been comforting. But it just helped her to worry more.

Upstairs, she checked Emma's room. The door creaked open, louder than she would've liked. She wasn't even sure if she'd made it home yet. Snow had given up weeks ago on waiting up for her. But tonight, Emma was curled up over the blankets, shoes still on.

Snow sighed, stepping into the room. It upset her, certainly, that Emma stayed out til all hours now without any notice. They barely spoke anymore, and that killed her more than not knowing where her daughter was or what she was doing.

She sat on the edge of the bed, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind Emma's ear. She pulled away when she noticed Emma's eyes open.

"Oh. I'm sorry to wake you," she said. "I was just checking on you."

"Its ok." Emma sniffled, hugging a pillow closer to her chest.

"Emma?" She combed her fingers through her hair again. "What's wrong?"

Emma just shook her head.

Something had happened with Neal. She could sense it. Instantly, her mind began to think of ways she could track him down, maim him at the very least. But she supposed she had actually be realistic about this. First.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Emma shook her head again, shifting so she was sitting up. "No."

"Do you want to be alone?" Snow's hands fell into her lap.

Again, Emma shook her head, the tracks of tears on her cheeks illuminated in the dim light. "No."

She managed to coax Emma into pajamas and the both of them crawled into the big king bed in Snow's room. Before Snow finally relaxed and fell back to sleep, she looked over to Emma's silhouette, hands tucked up under her chin and knees tucked up to her stomach, finally safe and home.

-O-O-O-

 _October 23_ _rd_ _, 2001_

She touched a hand to her daughter's shoulder, brushing away a tangle of blonde hair and coaxing her awake in the grey-blue hours of morning.

"Happy birthday," she sing-songed quietly when she stirred, twisting and stretching. She didn't miss her grin, even if it was tiny and flickered away as fast as it had come.

A single cupcake was set on the nightstand, with a single yellow candle poked into the center. It was enough to earn even the driest of chuckles from Emma as she sat up in bed, pushing away the quilt.

"Thanks, Mom."

"Make a wish," she insisted.

Emma was suddenly somber, and Snow saw a glimpse of the anxiousness she'd seen in her eyes the night before. She felt her chest clench in worry all over again, and watched Emma blink a few times, seemingly thinking hard about what to wish. Or maybe just wishing hard enough to actually will it. She blew out the candle, if only for her mother's sake, and sat up, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Mom," she said after a moment, her voice gravely. "I really have to talk to you."

"Alright," she said, trying to sound inviting, not wanting to think too long about what her daughter was about to say.

"I…" Emma physically shuddered, shoulders arching up. "I found out that I'm…having a baby."

She didn't like the coldness in Emma's voice when she said it.

Emma continued, shrugging. "I made a really bad mistake, and…" She blinked, a rogue tear snaking its way down her cheek. "I'm sorry to tell you like this, I…"

Snow didn't have to wait to hear more. She reached up, stroking a hand over Emma's hair, settling her palm reassuringly against her shoulder.

"Neal and I talked about it last night, and he…he doesn't want to be around." Emma looked down at her lap, fighting against a sob growing in her chest.

Snow found her hands, resting on her knees, and gripping them in her own. "Well, I will be."

Emma glanced up, disbelieving. "What?"

"I'm going to be here, Emma. Always. There is never a question. This is…big, and scary. And you should be nervous about telling me, but you shouldn't have been nervous about how I would react."

Emma's breath shuddered. "I just…thought I completely ruined everything. I've been so…" Her brow furrowed, and she shook her head. "I've been so awful to you. I was just waiting for you to say 'I told you so.'"

"Oh, Emma. No." She took a lock of Emma's hair in her fingers. "I wouldn't."

"I'm sorry..."

"Shhh…" Snow pulled her in, sitting on the bed beside her and cradling her close. "We're gonna figure this out. And I'll be here with you the whole way."

It was a moment before Emma's responded, her arms coming around her mother's shoulders. It was the first hug she'd had from her in so long, and it seemed that the past few months just disappeared from memory now. It didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was Emma was here, and open and honest. Anything else, they'd work out together.

"Thanks, Mom," she whispered against her shoulder. "I love you."

-O-O-O-

November 1st, 2001

She clutched the little slip of paper between her hands, trying to memorize the swirls of static-y lines and decipher the blob-like shape the doctor had pointed out as the baby. She looked up to her mother, smiling serenely, eyes on the road as they drove home from the first doctor visit of many.

"Mom," she said, getting her attention. She hummed in reply when she glanced over to her and back to the road.

Tears sprang to her eyes before she could help it, and she wiped at them quickly, not wanting to risk staining the sonogram, or her mother noticing. But of course it was too late for that.

"Oh, Emma. Is everything ok?" She reached out, touching a hand to her arm.

She nodded, wiping at her eyes. "Yeah. I'm fine. I'm just…" She breathed, looking back down at the little paper. The first little picture of the thing that was the size of a plum; that would be the size of an orange by the time she was able to find out the sex. She exhaled again. "I'm just…"

"Overwhelmed? Anxious? Excited?" her mother supplied.

Emma laughed thinly. "Yeah. All of the above."


	11. Chapter 11

_January 25th, 2002  
_ _Emma 18, Snow 46_

There was no question about her returning to school and finishing for her diploma. She knew people would talk, but she desperately needed some sense of normalcy around this. She had to prove that she could do this. She was sixteen weeks along now and obviously pregnant. And since she'd returned from the Christmas break, the whispering behind her back hadn't stopped.

Morning sickness was gone, but she still felt weak and woozy sometimes, and tried to only leave class for the nurse's office when it was particularly bad.

This particular day had just been a disaster. She'd woken up late, exhausted, and despite her mother's protests had driven herself to school and discovered she'd forgotten her lunch. Her mother insisted on packing it, on making sure she was on a proper diet and eating healthy. So she'd had what she could stomach from the cafeteria, but ended up sick in the end. This baby was particular. She hoped he wasn't a picky eater forever. (She hoped it was a he).

She ended up in the nurse's office, waiting for her to write up a pass back to class. The woman cast a look over her thin-rimmed glasses, glancing at Emma's stomach where her school sweater was buttoned over her growing bump.

"Has anyone discussed your options with you?"

Emma's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You're so close to graduating. Are you sure you want to go through with this? It'll be very hard to handle college and a child at the same time."

She reached up, snatching the pass from the nurse's fingers. "I know what I'm doing, thanks," she spat, turning for the door and only regretting that she hadn't yanked it hard enough to send it slamming back on its hinges.

It was like everywhere she turned, people had an opinion. It wasn't helping the fact that she was, in all honesty, frightened to death. She was still a kid, and now there was going to be one. But something in her, something she couldn't name and couldn't define, longed to meet him—or her. Longed to know him, and no matter who said otherwise, she would.

-O-O-O-

 _January 30th, 2002_

"Wow, that was fast."

Emma ducked her head, trying to focus on the work in front of her, pressing her pencil a bit too hard against the paper.

"I wonder when she's due. Its gotta be sooon."

She was used to it by now. People whispering about her. Because in a school mostly made up of girls, and in a place where parents shelled out cash for their kids' educations, she was an anomaly.

"I read an article that was talking about how seventy percent of children whose mothers get pregnant as teens never go to college." They weren't whispering at all now. Emma glanced up, spotting the teacher at his desk, peering down the bridge of his glasses at his gradebook.

"She's trying to prove she'll make something of herself now. There's no reason why she should even finish up. It isn't like she's going anywhere."

She turned, glaring back over her shoulder at the trio of girls who had shooted their desks together to feign working on a group project. "Hey!" she said sharply. Several other people looked away from their work.

"Be quiet," she said, setting her jaw. "Some of us are trying to work."

She didn't have to look back at the teacher to know she'd caught his attention too. All three of the girls were looked apologetic and slightly embarrassed, trying to avoid his gaze.

"Sorry," one girl all but scoffed. Emma turned back around, looking back to her equations. She silently begged herself not to cry, and managed to successfully make it through the hour without having to run for the bathroom to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater. She waited until she was in the car after the final bell, and had just made it home when it weighed on her all over again.

She didn't start on her homework, and was asleep by the time her mother got home from work at five o'clock. She heard her creep in, felt her weight on the edge of the bed and her fingers combing through her hair. But otherwise, she didn't let on like she was awake. She ate dinner silently that night, dodging worried glances from her mom until she was able to go back upstairs and read herself to sleep.

-O-O-O-

 _February 14, 2002_

This wasn't even the first time here, and it was still weird. She counted the specks in the ceiling tiles, trying to relax and not let the way the baby was pressing into her bladder at this angle, or the cool gel on her belly and the even colder air in the room bother her.

A whoomping sound echoed rhythmically throughout the room.

"There's the heartbeat," the tech told them. Her mother let out a little 'ah' of intrigue. Emma felt tears streak over her temples.

"Do you want to find out the sex?"

It was all she could do to manage an affirmative murmur, and the doctor moved the probe around on her belly again.

"Congratulations. It's a boy!"

Her breath caught in her throat. She didn't know how long she held it.

"Emma?" Her mothers voice beside her was gentle.

She waited a few more seconds and finally looked over at her, blinking as a tear dripped over her nose. Her mother reached over, grasping her hand that was fisted in her shirt. "A little boy," she echoed.

Emma nodded. "I know," she said simply. She wasn't sure if she had enough air to say anything more.

"Hey." Her mother gave her hand a squeeze that made Emma looked over at her. "Are you ok?"

She let out a long breath, and nodded. "Yes. Can I just have a minute?"

The ultrasound tech flicked on the lights and Emma righted her shirt, excusing herself to the bathroom. Emma was still gone when the doctor returned to the room to dismiss them.

"Doctor," Snow began. "Would you know anything about…depression during pregnancies, or why she might be becoming distant? Its…I'm just having trouble getting through to her recently. I'm worried something's happening at school, but she won't talk to me about it."

"She has a tougher time than other expectant mothers, certainly. She's young, and I'm assuming the father isn't in the picture anymore."

Snow glanced at her hands in her lap, fidgeting.

"The best choice is to probably find a therapist. She should talk to someone, if she isn't talking to you. I can make you a referral."

As the doctor finished his paperwork and Snow waited for Emma to return, she couldn't help but think that was the entire problem. Or at least what worried her. That Emma wouldn't speak to her. Things had been rocky recently, but they had always had a resilient relationship. She hoped this wouldn't be the point of no return for them.

In the car, Emma watched out her window, her palm flat on her round belly. Snow had to make her open up. She had to get inside her head. Distance would not be good for any of them—the three of them.

"Emma?" She waited until she could sense Emma's eyes on her. "I just want you to understand that you don't have to do this by yourself."

It was all she felt she needed to say. She knew that Emma was pulling away on purpose. She was trying to figure out how to untangle the knot of thoughts and fears that had been shoved upon her. And she knew she didn't feel like she was worthy of being helped. And Snow wasn't sure she knew how to.

She heard Emma's shaky intake of breath, and her heart clenched tight.

"I just…" Emma began. "…feel so scared and worried all the time. I don't know how to be a mother. And I'm pretty sure his life is going to suck. Because of me. And I just can't help thinking about the idea that…I've been abandoned."

"Abandoned, what do you mean?"

"Neal! Neal was supposed to be here through this. Even if he didn't want to. This is his responsibility to, and I'm past crying over him because he broke my heart. This is about my son now."

"You're right," Snow agreed, reaching over a hand to settle over her daughter's.

"But it doesn't change the fact that I'm alone. It doesn't change the fact that every man I've _almost_ had in my life has left. This kid is going to need a father."

Snow glanced over to her briefly, her own eyes suddenly prickling with tears. "Your father didn't leave," she blurted, because she knew exactly where this was going. "Your father wanted you to have your best chance."

Emma scoffed. "Yeah. My best chance. Knocked up and barely getting through school at eighteen."

She wanted to explain, and the looming feeling that she should have long ago settled on her chest before she could decide on what to say. Emma sank away again, into her own thoughts, gazing out the window again. She retreated directly to her room once they arrived home, and Snow didn't try to bother her until that evening when she brought their dinner into her bedroom and set out a makeshift picnic on the bedspread.

"I have to tell you this, Emma," she said, waiting for her daughter to shuffle to a sitting position, her belly weighing her down. "I have to tell you the truth about your father."

There was a typical sigh, and Emma rolled her eyes. "How many times have you tried to do this?"

It sent a sting through her veins that wasn't easy to shake away before she spoke again. "Its going to seem strange. But you've got to trust me."

Emma didn't look convinced, but waited for her to continue, biting into her grilled cheese.

"I was…We are…not from…" She sighed, trying to gather her thoughts. As many times as she'd thought about saying all of this, the words failed her now. "Do you remember the stories I used to tell you when you were a girl?"

Emma nodded. "About the prince who married the thief. Yeah."

"And that thief was actually a princess who'd be banished from her own kingdom?"

Emma nodded again, waiting, seemingly more patient than before.

"The thief in the story was me."

"So it was some metaphor about you and my father, is that what you're trying to get at? But you always ended the story with a happily ever after."

Snow reached over, gripping Emma's free hand that rested against the blanket. "No. Not a metaphor."

She waited, just a few seconds until realization flooded her daughter's eyes and then a laugh bubbled from her lips. "You're trying to tell me it was real? That you're a princess and my father's a prince and you ran away from some evil queen? Mom, are you hearing yourself?"

"You think I'm lying?" Snow set her expression, watching attentively, waiting for the pieces to click together in the way she thought they subconsciously might inside her daughter's mind.

"Well…eh…" Emma glanced away, looking across the bed towards the wall. "No. I don't know…" She sighed. "I think it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. And its hurts too much to think you made it up," she said, seemingly talking more to herself, rolling through possibilities and impossibilities, sorting it out. "So if you aren't lying…" she started, looking back at her, locking eyes in a gaze that too fierce to tear away from, "What does that make me? Some princess?" Her voice darkened at the word.

Snow nodded, cocking her head. "Indeed. The crown princess, actually. And your son would be crown prince. Of course, not of any land you know of here. Its…difficult to explain. The place…there's magic there, for lack of a better word."

"Oh my god…" Emma breathed, setting her sandwich down on her plate and raising her hands. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I can't. I just need to…I mean do you realize what kind of bullshit I'm going through right now? I'm getting fatter everyday, I just found out I'm having a boy, and I'm really happy about that part. But everything else is so…insane! I can't even call your bluff because compared to everything else, why the hell can't I be some princess from a magical world?"

"There really was no better way to tell you…" Snow said, drawing away.

"Of course not…" Emma groaned, blinking and rubbing at her belly.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," she snapped, leaning back a bit. "I just…I can't talk about this. Can I please just be alone?"

"Alright." Snow stood, gathering up their dinner from between them, stacking plates together and trying not to look upset at how much Emma hadn't eaten, because that wasn't a war that needed to be waged right now. "I'll bring you some tea."

"I don't want any," Emma grumbled, leaning back further into her pillows and stretching out her legs along the mattress.

"Ok. I'll say goodnight then."

"Fine."

Once the dishes were washed up, and the house was silent, Snow could just barely hear the sounds of Emma weeping. The barrier that she'd erected between them, the idea that she'd betrayed her, left her feeling hapless.

-O-O-O-

 _February 30th, 2002_

It was the most rebellious thing she'd done in awhile. But staying home once her mother had left for work afforded her plenty of time to watch a marathon of Indiana Jones and stuff her face with vanilla ice cream to her heart's desire. Honestly, she couldn't face those girls at school today. Or the teachers. She was supposed to show them that she could do this. Even convince herself. But she didn't feel up to it today. She just felt like screwing all of it, however irresponsible it was.

She glanced down, rubbing a hand over the growing swell of her belly.

"Hello in there," she said softly. "The doctor says you're as big as an avocado."

She never got why mothers talked to their stomachs, but here with just her—with just them—it didn't seem so weird. It grounded her.

"Things have sucked recently, and I'm sorry. I have no idea what I'm doing…" She sighed. "But you're going to be loved so much, its crazy. I'm going to make sure of it. You're going to have more family than you know what to do with."

She sat a moment, just thinking. Hoping for the future. Things were going to turn out ok. It would difficult at first, and she'd have to learn. She'd have to grow up. But for him, she'd already made up her mind that she would do just about anything.

There was suddenly a little movement. Just a little flutter under her hand, barely there. It came again, and she gasped out loud.

"Well, hello," she laughed, patting the spot. He kicked again and she couldn't handle it anymore, letting tears stream over her cheeks for seemingly the millionth time that week. But this time, at least they were happy.


	12. Chapter 12

_April 23rd, 2002  
_ _Emma 18, Snow 46_

She'd been feeling weird all morning. Not physically, really. Not any worse than she normally did these days. But it was almost like she should be expecting this day to go horribly wrong. Everything had been normal. She moved through her classes in a haze, accepting study guides for the last tests before finals began, finally presenting a group project that had been the very bane of her existence for two weeks. Everything was exceptionally normal until her second to last class period, during a pop quiz.

The baby moved, somersaulting on her organs, and she tried not to make a big deal about rubbing her belly, in a vain attempt to quiet him down. She felt the familiar burn of people's eyes, but she kept on her work, finishing. She checked over her answers, certain everything was correct. Before she could make up her mind to turn it in, there was a pain that made her suck in an audible breath, and something warm and wet bloomed over her skirt.

She stood in surprise, her knees catching the edge of the desk and the chair screeching back against the tile.

"Whoa!" someone shouted, and several other people gasped.

She cursed, not bothering to temper her language right now. The teacher was up, quieting everyone else and fleeing from the room to grab a nurse. A sharp pain barreled through her, and she gripped a fist against her sweater, trying to find leverage against what was happening. It was seconds before she was hustled out of the classroom, shoved into a wheelchair, and it wasn't until she was being wheeled to the nurse's office that she realized tears were running over her cheeks.

She tried not to bother being embarrassed while the baby pressed down against her threateningly. She tried not to be scared, but all she could think about was that the due date was at the end of May, and this was April, and her mother was at work, and they were calling her, calling an ambulance, and this was entirely too early. She tried not to think about the other students gasping and pointing and the way her skirt and her leggings were damp between her legs now, and tried to let the complete weight of being alone settle over her shoulders while they loaded her into the ambulance.

They were prepping her before she could even register they had arrived. All she could do was lay there, let it happen, trying to shut out the pain, trying to keep them from touching her. Between the pain and the crying, she was blinded.

"I can't have this baby now," she begged. "My mother isn't here. Its too early. My mother. I _need_ my mother!"

A nurse tried to soothe her, and told her they were nearly ready to begin, but Emma shook her head, wrenching her hand away from the nurse's cold fingers. "No. I won't do this without my mom. I can't. I can't do this by myself…" A sob raked through her chest, and she tried to curl herself together as much as possible. She couldn't do this. "Its too early. Its too early…"

The nurse was chanting a breathing pattern at her, but she was too frantic to listen. Then she heard her mother's gentle timbre above all the chaos of the room, and everything seemed to pause. She was at her side instead of the nurse, bustling through the room, coat buttoned lopsidedly and hat askew.

"Mom. Mom!" Emma grabbed for her hand, gripping tight. "I can't do this. I can't do this."

Her mother ran a hand over her forehead, pushing away her already-damp hair. "Ssshhh…Breathe, Emma. You have to breathe."

"No," she protested still. "No, its too early." She screwed her eyes shut. More pain.

"I know. I know." She smiled, attempting to be comforting. "But if the baby is coming, you can't stop it. You can do this, Emma. You are so brave." She pressed a kiss against her temple.

"No. No…" she choked.

"I'm so proud of you, Emma. You can do this."

It was too late to protest anymore, and everything turned into a blur again. Her work was over quickly, but there was not a telltale cry, and for a few seconds Emma held her breath, listening, waiting. She concentrated on the specks in the ceiling tiles, trying to not let herself think the worst, gripping the rails of the bed…

And then, as loud as a siren, his first cry hiccupped and sputtered into a wail that made her vision haze all over again.

"Oh, Emma. He's beautiful!" her mother cooed, watching the nurses scurry around checking vitals and swaddling him in a blue blanket.

Emma tired to pace her breathing, watching the ceiling above her as everything melded back together again, into one coherent piece of reality that had been torn away just seconds earlier. They were asking her to hold him, and her hands unconsciously wrapped around his little body. He was so tiny. A month early and yet still screaming his lungs out now, right in her ear. He was so soft and pink, and all she could do was smile.

For once in what seemed like the entire nine months, everything aligned and it was like something tore away from her. Something she'd been clinging to. Something to give up to make room for this new life.

She sighed, stroking the crown of his little head and his tiny, tiny fingers. "Hi, kid."

Just as soon as he'd been settled against her, they were taking him away again to check everything over. The nurses asked her to decide on a name, and promised she'd be able to visit him very soon. They would hold him in the NICU until they were sure he could sustain breathing on his own.

The room was silent again, but Emma couldn't even look at the paperwork they'd left her with right now. All she could focus on was that tiny little thing, the tiny little face all scrunched up and yelling her deaf, and how he fit so perfectly against her.

Her mother was holding her hand, and Emma felt her lean forward to kiss her hair before she dozed off into a thin sleep.

-O-O-O-

 _April 26th, 2002_

"Henry."

"Your obsession with Indiana Jones never ceases to worry me."

"I like it," she said decidedly, poising her pen above the little box for his first name.

On one side of her bed, Henry was napping in a bassinet, oxygen supply poked into his nose, but on the mend and declared exceptionally healthy for a preemie. On the other, her mother was working on finishing a soft blue crocheted blanket, and struggling. She had thought she'd have more time, and she'd insisted that all babies needed their very own special blankets, so she was determined to finish it.

Emma leaned her head back against the pillows, watching the way the light cast on her son's features. He was still pink and new, but she had seen the crinkle beside his eyes—Neal—and their hazel color that was a combination of the two of them. It wasn't like she hadn't expected him to look like Neal. It all just seemed so far away now. Three days ago, she was worried about how the hell she was going to survive this. And now, somehow, this tiny little boy was giving her the hope. Another chapter had started, and she wanted to make it a good one. The past didn't matter now. There was only Henry.

"A middle name?" Emma glanced back to the paperwork, considering. She wouldn't…

"Your father's name was David."

She glared at the box on the paper.

"He doesn't have to have a middle name."

But Emma shook her head. "No. He will." Decidedly, she pressed the pen to the paper and penned the five letters, and his last name as Nolan.

-O-O-O-

 _May 20th, 2002_

For kicking and screaming his way into the world early, Henry was a healthy baby and the doctors and nurses were pleasantly surprised to release them before expected. School had finished last week, but her teachers had agreed to make arrangements for her to postpone her finals. Picking her grades up this past school year lent a hand in obtaining the favor. It was an added stress, to be a new mother and still under the weight of schoolwork. But it wouldn't be long, and her mother was there to help.

He wriggled in the little bassinet she'd pulled into her room. They had set up a nursery in the room next to hers, but she couldn't stand to be away from him, not even for a night. He hiccupped, a small cry bubbling in his chest. She knew it well, and turned away from her desk, placing her pen in her textbook to mark her place. She peeked down at him, scooting her chair closer.

"Hey, kid," she cooed down at him. "Nice little nap, huh? Thanks for giving me a study break." She reached down, drawing him close and laying him safely against her. His little hands opened and closed, tugging a lock of her hair. She didn't mind.

He whined again, wrinkling up his little nose.

"Oh, shhh…I got you."

Since they'd been home, something had taken over. Some sort of instinct, an automatic response she didn't know she possessed. All of her fears were banished at the sight of him, and though she let herself think too much on how things could be, how they could all fall apart, this little person was the one to right it. There were still times. Times when she wished Neal was still here; wished that things hadn't turned out so royally horrible. But never once did she regret him.

He was quiet now, calm and fisting his hands near his face. She dropped her chin, pressing a kiss to his soft forehead. "I'm so happy to have you, Henry."

-O-O-O-

 _December 1st, 2003  
_ _Emma 20, Snow 48, Henry 1_

Graduation came and went, and though she wasn't able to walk the stage, she didn't really care. No one at that school meant enough to her that she actually wanted to walk with them. She was just happy to be finished. Her diploma came in the mail, and Snow framed it and tacked it on the wall in the living room amongst the cluster of framed photos of Emma as she grew.

Emma had been looking at apartments for she and Henry, and was researching law classes that would give her a good base but didn't take too much of her time away from Henry. It was when she found her daughter at the breakfast table, newspaper in hand, circling ads, that she insisted she stay.

She needed time to grow still, to figure things out. Snow thought Emma's argument ridiculous when she insisted it was too much for Snow to take care of Henry during the day. He wasn't her kid, she had argued, and she needed to learn how to handle this on her own. But as Snow saw it, he was hers just as much as Emma's. She had expected grandchildren—not this soon, but what did it matter now? She loved them both so much, and wouldn't stand for anything less than staying together as a family.

Emma began classes in the fall, just a few to begin. She was trying to make things better for herself, and for Henry. And doing quite a good job.

At Henry's first birthday, Snow did finally suggest that maybe it was time they find a place of their own. Not because she wanted them gone, but because she saw the type of mother Emma was, the type of mother she could be. She knew she could make it on her own.

Now, she watched them as Emma pointed up at the arc of Christmas lights above them, Henry reaching, the warm glow reflecting merrily in his eyes. She laughed and he laughed in turn, clapping his tiny hands.

She said something Snow didn't catch above the flurry of other kids and other parents around them at the tree lighting, and cuddled him close.

Snow had never doubted things would end up happily, she was only worried about the journey it would take to get there. Things had not been discussed any further about their family's origins, and Snow didn't push. She knew, as she remembered the Blue Fairy had said, that one day she would just know. She would realize it had not been a lie, that it had been for her good, and that she could and would succeed in breaking this curse for the good of all. Other worries were forming as the time grew nearer, like how they would know where to find the place. Or what state her people were in, what the Evil Queen had enacted to rip away all happiness. She knew that wherever he was, David didn't have this—didn't have anybody to make sure he was safe and happy, didn't have Emma or Henry. That had been the entire basis of the curse. And in truth, she felt a little guilty for having it to herself. But when the time came, she would show him, and tell him, and hopefully that would be enough. Afterall, what was twenty-eight years when they had eternal love?

Henry was grinning at her now, wide and toothy and doe-eyed. She stepped closer and reached for his hands, inadvertently pulling Emma closer as well. She leaned her head against her daughter's shoulder and gazed up at the light above them, around them. This was their happiness for now. Sacred and ephemeral. In time, they would learn together how to share it.


	13. Chapter 13

Part II: Pocket Watch

 _Her eyes snapped open, and fear clenched in her chest before she could even take in her surroundings. Torches burned on the walls of sprawling stone, the floor beneath her gravelly and scraping against her palms like a thousand pin pricks, like a thousand shards of glass as she tried to roll herself onto her back._

 _"Missssyyyy…." A voice hissed above her. She sprang up, the dirt floor crunching under her boots._

 _"Who's there?"_

 _Her voice did not sound like her own. It seemed outside of her, far away and echoing back to her._

 _In front of her, prison bars pointed from the ceiling and the floor, like stalactites and stalagmites, like they had formed themselves around their prisoner, closing in and trapping him there, never to open their jaws._

 _"Missy…" From the bars, fingers crept through and curled towards her, reaching and beckoning. Long, sickly colored fingernails clamped around the bars. A face drew itself into the light, its skin rippling and pitted with a thousand tiny golden flecks._

 _"Ooh…" The creature hissed. "I've been waiting a long, long while to meet you."_

 _"Who are you?" she snapped._

 _His head cocked sideways, slowly, eerily, considering her. "You. Don't. Believe."_

 _"What are you talking about?"_

 _"The stories, deary. You don't believe our stories."_

 _"What…? Who are…?" She stepped closer, but the man—the thing—narrowed his eyes to slits, then they sprang open to wide, full pupils like twin black moons. His mouth snapped wide, showing off a jagged row of gold painted teeth. Something shrill bubbled from within him, a mocking laugh rolling in the back of his throat, hardly a laugh at all. A screech. A maniac's tune._

 _She stumbled back three steps, sliding and landing on her back in the graveled tunnel again. She scrambled, as the madman's laugh seemed to circle around her, encase her. She pressed her hands over her ears. But even then she could hear it, repeating and repeating in a void. And then suddenly it was over._

 _The cavern filled with silence again. Silence so heavy, it was evil all on its own. And then he hissed her name, like a prayer, and it was enough to send a shiver through her._

 _"Emma…"_

-O-O-O-

 _Boston, MA  
August 31_ _st_ _, 2011  
_ _Emma 27, Henry 9, Snow 56_

She jumped awake, tears on her face. It had been awhile since she'd woken like this, actually crying. Blearily, she tried to gather herself, to remember that these were just dreams. Just nightmares. She swiped at her cheeks, and tried to slow her breathing. Her alarm clock blared on the dresser, doing nothing to calm her. Eventually, she untangled herself from her sheets and jumped up to slam the edge of her fist on the button. Silence again, this time heavy with reality. This was real. This was her life. Whatever that was, whatever that place had been…

She shook her head, combing her fingers through her hair, checking its state after her restless sleep. She stretched, up on her tiptoes, and once her mind was clear enough, anchored here, she tiptoed into her hallway. The door just across from hers was tacked with drawings and _Star Wars_ posters, proclaiming exactly who's room this was. She peeked inside.

"Wake up, kid. Time for school."

Henry grumbled, but sat up, rubbing fists against his eyes. "K…" he murmured.

"Pancakes in ten," she told him, disappearing back to her room to get dressed.

She was downstairs before him, and when he appeared, he looked all too sunny to be awake on a Monday. She wasn't a laze-around-in-bed person, but she was slow to get started. He must've gotten his disposition as a morning person from his grandma.

"I signed your permission slip," she said, pointing to his homework folder he'd left on the breakfast bar last night.

"Thanks. Can you add chocolate chips?"

"Done," she said, making him a plate.

"You ok?" He watched her knowingly from over his glass of orange juice.

"Fine," she said, sliding beside him at the breakfast bar.

"Did you have a bad dream again?"

Emma sighed, pushing her eggs around on her plate. Sometimes she resented how close they were. No, that wasn't true. She just wished he wasn't so damned intuitive for a nine-year-old.

"I did. But its ok. I'm fine." She smiled, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder tenderly.

"Ok. Can you be a chaperone on my field trip?"

"Already got that day off," she said proudly. "Unless a tip gets called in."

"I hope not. Even though…you always get the man." He looked up at her with a grin.

"That's right." She laughed. "But you're my most favorite man. I'll put you above the perps anyday."

Henry beamed.

Once they had finished breakfeast, she hurried to tidy the kitchen, sending Henry upstairs for his backpack. "And don't forget your lunch this time!' she added.

Everything at least halfway clean, she gathered up her gear for work before piling in the car to drive Henry to the bus stop.

"So are you gonna say yes to that guy at work?" Henry asked.

"What? Jim? No. Hey, stop eavesdropping on me and Grandma's phone conversations, ok?"

Henry shrugged. "I can't help it. Besides, it might be nice."

Emma glanced over to him while he gazed out the window. She remembered being that child; who didn't understand where they had come from, who always felt just that tiniest bit off. She didn't think he was ready to know the truth. Not old enough just yet. But she would tell him. Now she understood how her mother felt about explaining their past. A topic that had not been discussed in many years, if only vaguely hinted at. If these dreams and nightmares she'd been having were any indication that her mother _might_ be telling the truth, that her gut told her she belonged there, somehow, somewhere. Well, in that case, they all needed to be admitted.

The bus pulled up to their street corner where Emma had stopped the car so Henry could wait in the warmth, breaking her out of her reverie. She leaned over to kiss his hair. "Have a good day. See you at seven. Love you."

"Love you, too, Mom." He slid out of the seat and shut the door to the yellow bug she still managed to hold together despite its miles and years. She downed her thermos of coffee before she even made it to work, and when Jim pounced on her before she'd even reached her desk, she regretted it. She needed some kind of vice to keep her sane around this guy. He was nice enough but…no. And she didn't date.

She wasn't going to get screwed over again. Not with Henry to think of.

She finished her work, with no distractions and no tips. Just a lengthy day of researching and paperwork that made the hours long and made her that much more grateful to get to her mother's house to have dinner with them before she and Henry returned home.

Once she got to her mother's, Henry was nowhere to be found, presumably upstairs watching television. Emma helped her mother with dinner, dodging questions about Jim all the while. There was a huge yellow envelope on the counter, empty and addressed with Henry's name.

"What's that?" She asked offhandedly, pointing with the spoon she was stirring the pasta with.

"A book came for Henry today," her mother said lightly, sliding a loaf of French bread into the oven.

"Something from school, I guess," Emma mumbled. "Weird that they would send it here."

"He's been upstairs reading all afternoon." Her mother sounded entirely too pleased. Not that this was any different from how she normally sounded.

"Grandma!" Henry bounded in, a thick leather bound book clutched against his chest. "Oh! Mom! You're here!"

Emma looked taken aback. Henry usually met her at the door, talking a mile a minute about his day at school. Today he was so apparently obsessed with this book, he hadn't even noticed her arrive.

"Grandma! Look at this. Its so weird!" He tossed open the book on dining room table, and her mother bent to peer at it. "She looks like you. Isn't that so weird?"

"Hmm…It is a certain likeness, isn't it?" Her mother gave a wily grin, glancing briefly towards Emma.

The oven timer interrupted them, and Emma insisted Henry put the book away for dinner. Afterwards, he was in the living room, cartoons blaring from the television but for all accounts ignored for the storybook in his lap. She watched him from the doorway of the kitchen. There were both up to something; she knew it for sure. She knew them both too well.

She turned, going back to her task of putting away the leftovers while her mother washed the dishes. "So where'd the book come from?" she asked flatly, snapping the lid on the Tupperware.

Her mother glanced over her shoulder, attempting an innocent look. "There was no return address. I don't know." She paused, scrubbing at a plate and grabbing the drying towel, turning to face her. Her hair was streaked in bright grey now, wrinkles around her eyes. But her smile was as kind and gentle as Emma remembered from her childhood. "I suppose it was…"

"Don't." Emma shook her head. "Please. Don't say it."

"Emma…"

"Don't Emma me!" she sighed, glancing through the doorway again at Henry, still content on the sofa. She looked back to her mom. "Look. It has been years since we've even talked about this. I don't appreciate you going and giving him…whatever _that_ is…without asking me first."

Her mother planted her hands on her hips. "I didn't give it to him. It came in the mail. You think I'm lying, use your superpower."

Emma grimaced, narrowing her eyes at her. "Just because you believe something doesn't make it true."

She'd learned that. She'd believed many things. Believed that there had been a happy ending out there that included Neal, and she'd been completely wrong. Believed that one day her mother would stop pulling stunts like this. Believed that there was actually a chance that she'd discover why her dad wasn't around anymore.

Her mother nodded, smiling knowingly. "That may be true. But I think you believe more than you think you do."

Emma shook her head again. "I don't. Because twenty-seven years of believing hasn't gotten me much."

"Except a son."

"That didn't come by magic. That was reality. I don't want a future based in magic. I want reality."

"What if they're the same thing?"

Emma huffed, squaring her shoulders. "Just forget it. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm just getting upset. We're going home. Don't talk about it with him, please. I'm asking you." Emma waited until her mother nodded in agreement, turning to stack the dishes away.

She gathered Henry up, and managed to get him to put the book down on the car ride home. He was in bed on time, and she tucked him in just like always. She perched on the edge of his bed, picking at a stray thread in his quilt.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot." Henry scooted down deeper into the covers.

"Do you…believe in magic?"

Henry shrugged, grinning. "Sure. Santa Claus. The Tooth Fairy. If it gets me a present, I believe in it."

Emma rolled her eyes. Henry had admitted to her at six that she could stop putting up the Santa front. He was way too smart for that.

"I'm serious." Serious about believing in magic? They always said women turned into their mothers as they got older…

"I think I do," Henry answered honestly. "Why shouldn't it be real? It just makes sense, ya know?"

Emma hummed, considering. For the past ten years, it had just made sense. There was just something about it all that felt right. She couldn't identify it, and she wanted to avoid it. Because if she believed this, everything changed. The life she'd tried to build for them wasn't theirs anymore.

She reached over, combing Henry's hair away from his eyes. He always had so much faith in the world. In her. She didn't want that to ever change.

"Goodnight, kid."

"Goodnight, Mom."

She leaned over, kissing his forehead. There weren't many nights left that she'd be able to do this. He was growing up so fast, nearly ready to be done with bedtime stories and affection from his mom.

"And don't stay up reading all night, I mean it. Lights out." She stood up, clicking off the lamp on the nightstand as she went for the door.

-O-O-O-

 _She followed, stepping widely over tree roots and fallen limbs. Her boy ran ahead, calling back over his shoulder at her, but she couldn't hear him. It was almost like they were underwater, sound blurring together, Henry's voice a streak of indecipherable syllables._

 _Her own laugh stretched long and thin, behind her, above her, but seemingly not within her. She chased behind him, gripping the skirts of her gown._

 _The forest was growing darker by the second, thicker and yet she realized they were going in a circle. She was certain she'd seen that cluster of bushes before, the peel of the bark on that birch._

 _She'd lost sight of Henry now, but could still hear him, somehow clearer now despite him being further away._

 _"Mom!"_

 _She stumbled slightly._

 _"Mom!"_

 _For seemingly the hundredth time, she rounded the last tree in the sequence, back at the start. She paused, waiting, and looking for Henry to appear. To jump out from a hiding spot._

 _"Henry!"_

 _This time her voice was solid, bright and loud and unechoing. Landing flatly against the moss floor._

 _She glanced right, to a woman dressed in regal black, glittering in the fading dusk like onyx. Henry was at her feet, a small and crumpled form, and in the woman's hand, glowing and pulsing beneath her slender fingers, was a heart._

-O-O-O-

"Mom!"

She bolted awake, gasping out loud when her eyes focused on Henry leaning against the edge of her bed, one hand on her elbow, tugging gently.

"Henry." She reached out, planting a hand against the shoulder of his night shirt.

"You were dreaming again," he said softly, looking more bewildered than she ever wanted to see her son. "You kept calling for me. I heard you all the way across the hall. I thought something was wrong."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, swallowing, trying to even her breathing. "Come here."

She reached over, pulling back the covers and letting him crawl in beside her. She waited until he was comfortable, safe near her, curled up on her pillow. She grinned, reaching for the one across the bed.

"What time is it?" she grumbled, propping up her head on one hand, peering at him through bleary eyes.

"Almost five. We have to be up in two hours."

"Five? I bet the Looney Tunes are on," she said, leaning over to grab the television remote from her nightstand. The TV on her dresser glowed in the watery early morning light, and she stayed awake. Henry dozed on her shoulder, and after a full episode of watching Daffy and Bugs battle it out, this started to actually feel like reality. Feel safe and home again. They were far away from whatever that…place…was. They were here and now, with no magic and dark witches trying to tear out their hearts. Because all of that was certainly impossible.

Henry's field trip later in the week went over without a hitch, and Emma managed to stay through the whole trip until the kids returned to the school and she was called in at the last minute, after she'd promised to take Henry for ice cream since the students were being released early. When she arrived to pick him up later that evening at her mother's house, he was grumpy but perked up when she surprised him with two pints of their favorite flavors, which they ate out of the cartons on the couch watching some silly movie he'd picked out until he was hardly able to keep his eyes open. She eventually coaxed him upstairs, and tucked him in with a goodnight kiss. He was beginning to protest, grimacing whenever she kissed his hair or still tried to have a little chat before bedtime, but she didn't care. She could do this until he was sixteen and driving.

His book was abandoned on a chair in the dining room, where he'd dropped his backpack. She was finishing her ice cream on the couch, a rerun of some girly television show playing softly. She was hardly listening. She caught herself, thinking on that _place_ again. The place in her dreams. Though she could be in a forest, or a cave, or a castle, it always felt like the same place. The same land. And as much as she'd avoided talking about it, even thinking about it all of these years, she had to admit she was curious. Why was she having these dreams? And why had they not ceased since Henry was born? Ever since she'd had him, they'd only become more frequent. A few a year at the beginning, now every month. She wasn't siding with her mother. She wasn't admitting anything. She was just curious.

She told herself that was all it was when she stood, took two passive aggressive steps to the dining room table and snatched up the book. She set down her ice cream on the tabletop and sat, flipping open the thick tome.

"OK. Once Upon A Time…" she read begrudgingly, beginning.


	14. Chapter 14

She had stayed up until midnight reading, made it through the history of Snow White's childhood, through her attempts to save her mother, through meeting the young woman Regina, who had eventually turned on her, seeking her own goals and out for her life once she'd spilled the secret of Regina's true love. She read until she was so full of more questions that she had to just walk away, leaving the book open to the next chapter, where Henry had marked his place.

Why did this seem so real to her? Why did these characters seem so familiar? Painted likenesses of faces she had never known. If her mother was Snow White, as Henry seemed to think…what did that mean for her?

She refused to read further.

-O-O-O-

 _October 13, 2011_

"Surprise!"

Henry waved goodbye to his friends, hurrying over to Emma and letting her pull him into a hug. "What are you doing? How'd you get off of work so early?"

She slung an arm over his shoulders, pulling him to her while they walked to the Bug, away from the school and the bus that had been waiting to cart Henry to his grandmother's house. "A little birthday-week bonus," she chirped. "I've been super busy, and I'm sorry. I wanted to spend some time with you."

"Sounds great to me. Can we get a cheeseburger?"

"You read my mind, kid."

They found a quiet burger joint, with tables where they could sit outside in the cool autumn breeze. Emma poked at her onion rings, considering. As much as she'd tried, she just couldn't get her mind off that book. The fact that everything lined up too perfectly. As much as she held to the idea that believing didn't make something true, she had to find fault in her own logic. If she believed that, and this _was_ true, where did that put her?

She glanced up at her son, eating contentedly. If there was one person that had always believed in her, always been her scope towards hope, it was Henry.

"Hey. Remember when you showed Grandma how she looked like Snow White from your book?"

Henry nodded over his fries.

Here went nothing. Just testing the waters. Just seeing if he'd disown her and decide he wanted to be emancipated.

"Well…what if she was? Like really was?"

Henry smiled. "Yeah. That'd be great. Grandma was a rock-wielding bandit in another life."

She finished the last sliver of an onion ring. "Yeah. You're right. Its ridiculous."

"Wait." Henry paused, and she met his eyes. "You're serious?"

"No!"

"You are! You think the stories are real!" Henry's voice rose excitedly.

"Shhh!" She glanced around at the other tables, one lady already shooting her the I-can't-believe-they-let-her-be-a-mother glare.

"Are they real? Like from a different time and place?"

"Of course not. Nobody can actually take a potion to forget their true love, or trap a genie in a mirror."

"They could. If there was magic," Henry challeneged. "Do you know? Did Grandma tell you?"

"Tell me what?" she defended, just wanting to go back in time and erase this entire conversation. If only they had…

"Tell you that's where we're from? That's where the book came from!"

"Henry…" Emma groaned, leaning back into her chair. She knew she shouldn't have started this. She could've just kept her mouth shut. "All of that is…"

"Not impossible."

She shook her head, the corner of her mouth turning up. "That's true…Its just…"

If they confronted her mother, if all of this craziness actually was real, everything would change. Emma wasn't sure she wanted that. She was more than certain she didn't. This life, however long it had taken her to accept it, was hers and it was pretty good. Just she and Henry, without woodland creatures and fairy godmothers. She didn't want that kind of interference. Whatever had brought her mother here, it was a long time ago and obviously not pressing enough to be discussed. So who cared?

"Would you really want to be a part of that, Henry? When its just us, and you've got friends and school and…"

"Mom. I'm almost ten. You're basically asking me if I want to find out if I'm a knight or a prince or something epic like that. What do you think my answer will be?"

Emma smiled at him. She wished she had half of his faith.

"Things are fine how they are."

"How can you say that when you could be a princess?!" he exclaimed, earning stares again. "You always say that when it comes to guys asking you on dates, or anything else that could turn out awesome."

Suddenly, she was jarred back to a time when she was sixteen, pulled away from her first true friend, shoved into some new place she didn't have any desire to assimilate to, accusing her mother of the very same thing. She sighed, leaning forward over the table.

"This is going to change everything."

Henry nodded. "For better."

-O-O-O-

 _October 22, 2001_

"Mom. I need to talk to you."

Snow turned from folding her laundry, watching Emma walk into the room and hesitate on closing the door. She left it open, but stood in the entry.

"I think its time you told me everything about…my dad. And the place we came from." She could tell Emma was uncertain, not sure exactly how to choose her words.

She just smiled, laying down one of Henry's school sweaters in the pile. "Alright. How about some cococa?"

Emma called for Henry while Snow warmed the milk. She had been waiting for an opportunity to do this; the book had opened a door for her, paving the way for her to tell the story she'd been hesitant on telling for twenty-seven years. She'd thought about this momnt, and never quite been able to picture it. Through all the years, her sole focus had been raising Emma to be a strong and happy woman. She supposed she accomplished that well enough. Emma was her own person. And as they all three sat down at the dining room table, Snow could remember the day she'd been thrown into this realm like it was yesterday. How scared and uncertain she'd been. Now, there wasn't fear, there wasn't a secret to keep. Emma quietly sipped her cocoa, waiting for her mother to begin, and all Snow could do was look back at her with pride.

She took them through the beginnings of her story, her parents' death, Regina's rise to power and her own banishment from the kingdom at her step-mother's decree. Of course all stories that Henry had heard before, but he watched her with wide eyes just the same. She could see Emma, looking far away and distant into her half-empty mug. Once she reached the end of her story, explaining the decision she and Charming had made to escape the Queen's curse, Emma was glaring across the table with something like determination written into her features.

"So…I'm supposed to…break a curse in a town I don't even know the location of? And restore them to the land they came from? Because some weirdo wizard says so?" Her expression broke, and now she just looked angrier and more confused than ever. "How the hell am I supposed to do that? How the hell do I know I can?"

Snow shrugged a shoulder. "Technically we aren't entirely sure of what will happen, or how it will happened after you break the curse. But we do know that your destiny has indeed been prophesized by the most powerful fairy in the land. How do you know these stories are true?"

Emma glanced away, fidgeting with the spoon in her mug. "I don't know. It just feels right."

"Maybe believing you can do this is the same sort of feeling." She reached over, grasping Emma's hand.

Her daughter glanced to Henry, and then shook her head. "No. I don't know. I knew hashing all of this out was just going to make a mess of things. I can't just take a risk like that on people I know nothing about, for a chance at getting them back where they belong, that might not happen anyways."

"Heroes take risks. Its what they do." Snow smiled encouragingly.

"But I'm not…a hero. Or a princess. Or…I'm just Emma. I'm just a mom."

"Sounds like a hero to me," Henry chimed in. Emma sighed, giving him a loving smile. It was heartwarming, but it didn't help the long list of doubts already lining themselves up. Up until a few days ago, this had been entirely preposterous to her. Now that she'd accepted it, figured there was the slightest chance that it could be real, she was expected to save everyone from some mad woman? It was too much.

"I think we should sleep on it," she suggested, twisting her mug on the table.

-O-O-O-

 _She senses that they had been traveling this road for some time now. A long, grey stretch of asphalt flanked in thickening pine trees that don't end. Her mother watches out the passenger window, and in the rearview mirror she can see Henry dozing against the window, comic book forgotten in his lap._

 _Something breaks the monotony ahead, like a blip on the landscape. A road sign, and as they near it she can read it clearly. Big block letters spell out a name that is unmistakably amusing and serene all at once._

Storybrooke.

-O-O-O-

 _October 23, 2001_

They slept over at Snow's house that night, and Emma was up first. She woke easily, just still in her place on the couch for awhile, watching the ceiling fan spin. It was real. Everything about the dream was real; she could sense it somehow. It was some insane sense of déjà vu, that was for certain. The night before, she'd backed away, closed herself off every time something in her mother's story struck her heart in just the right way. There was no way she could believe any of this. No way to convince herself, and no way to prove—or disprove—it until they started looking. Eventually, she rolled form the couch and started breakfast, still mulling over possibilities.

Something in her felt drawn to this place, and yet she had no real motives for wanting to seek it out. Her life was fine. Though she'd gone through a rough patch or two, things had worked out. But then there was the rift all of this magic talk had brought between her and her mother… They were lucky to have remained close, and Emma was grateful. But this was the subject they always avoided, something always taboo and dangerous about mentioning it. If there was a way to mend that rift…

She was just finishing a skillet of scrambled eggs when her mother came downstairs.

"Happy birthday," she said, leaning over to kiss her daughter's cheek.

"Thanks, Mom." She watched her fill her mug from the warm kettle on the stove, her long greying hair catching a blue hint from the cloudy morning light. "Cancel anything you have planned today," she finally said decidedly.

Snow looked curious. "Alright. What did you have in mind?"

"I think we should find the place we're from."

"Today? And how do you expect we find it?"

"I think its time I start trusting my feelings."

She couldn't believe she'd said it. She couldn't believe she was agreeing to this. She was going in half-sure. Uncertain, opening up the door to something she'd just learned to shut away. But what could be the harm in it? There would no knowing if they didn't at least try…

Snow grinned, even as Emma prepared three plates started the coffee pot. Henry bounded downstairs in the next few seconds, grabbing his plate and scarfing it down before the bacon was even finished cooking. All Emma had to do was briefly explain her dream, her plan, and Henry was in.

The Bug was an uncomfortable fit for the three of them, and Emma promised stops for snacks to appease Henry's grumblings about being crammed into the back seat.

And so she drove. She followed the highway until it led away from the busiest sect of Boston, continuing until it just seemed right to change directions. She had no map. She only had her feelings, and it was a difficult thing to trust. Two hours in, she needed a break and Henry needed to stretch his legs. They took a coffee break outside Vermont.

"The closer we get," Emma said, filling her paper cup from the worse-for-wear machine at the rest stop, "The more anxious I get. I just keep thinking about…my dad being there."

Her mother just smiled beside her. "So we're close then?"

Emma shook her head. "I don't…I don't know. I have no idea what I'm doing. I have no idea if this is half crazy or half ridiculous."

Snow set a hand on her shoulder. "I want you to know that whatever happens today…I'm happy that we're doing this. Together. That you're trusting this."

Emma nodded. "I think that's what's helping. Trusting. Trusting myself, and trusting you."

Snow smiled. "Let's find Henry before he's bought enough candy to give himself a stomachache."

Emma laughed in return, following her to find her son and get back on the road.

Night fell quickly, and they'd just barely made it into Maine. Emma was nearly ready to stop, to sleep, to cry. Maybe all at once.

Her mother was gazing out the window, as she had been for most of the trip. Henry was dead to the world in the backseat.

This was certainly what she never expected to be doing on her birthday. Ten hours in a car, with her family, going to uncover some legend of their long lost home fand friends and other family she had just decided on believing in. Though she trusted herself and her mother, she still wasn't convinced they weren't crazy. Anybody would think so. Not that she cared. It was just the principle. She could've had a nice dinner tonight, or at least deep dish delivery pizza with Henry in a sheet fort in their living room. Instead she was trying to follow a trail she could only see as far as her intuition.

She huffed, shoulders slumping.

"Tired?"

She glanced over at her mother, now watching her. Emma shook her head. "I'm just…I'm just nervous," she admitted.

"About what? Not that I think its unexpected."

"Just…" Emma paused. How many times had she just wanted to interrogate her mother for the truth? Now they were heading for it and she wasn't sure she could handle it. "My dad."

Emma didn't even need to glance at her mother to know she was beaming. "Your father was…is the best man I ever met. Second to my father, of course. And maybe the Dwarves, since they'd be put out if I said so."

Emma smirked. "Dwarves? I can't believe they're real too."

"Of course. They were good friends of mine… Are, I suppose." This time, Snow paused. Silence lingered a moment. "You're right, Emma. As excited and anxious as I am, there is so much unknown that I couldn't prepare you for. People I haven't seen in twenty eight years…I just hope that length of time hasn't done much damage, The Queen…she's powerful. Who knows what she's turned them into."

Now all new fears heaped themselves onto Emma's shoulders. Once they found this place, how were they supposed to know who was who? How to get their real family back if this Evil Queen had supposedly cursed them? Her mother didn't know specifics of the curse. She'd only said it was meant to keep them from their happy endings, which Emma had inferred was a fairytale term for destiny.

"Mom," she said, glancing her way. "I'm really glad you're here."

Snow reached across the console, giving Emma's shoulder a squeeze. Emma looked away from the road again, just for a second to smile at her, but when she looked back, she noticed a sign she was certain hadn't been there seconds ago.

From a distance, with her headlights just barely illuminating it, she could tell what it was. The road sign from her dream, with its thick block letters and welcoming serene color scheme.

"Mom! Mom look!" Emma took a hand off the wheel to point. "That's it! From my dream!"

"Emma!"

In her excitement, she hadn't realized the car was slowing, stalling. She cursed, gripping the wheel just as the car jolted twice, coughing to a stop.

"Shit," she repeated, fiddling with the shifter to no avail.

Snow didn't even complain about her use of language.

"What's going on?" Henry mumbled in the back seat, shaken awake.

"Car stalled," Emma said. "We're almost there." Torn between taking care of the car, and getting past the sign post ahead, Emma tried to jimmy the key out the ignition. "You've got to be kidding me," she groaned.

"Emma. Let's leave it. We can walk. If you say this is it, there's someone in the town that can help us. Hopefully."

Easily enough, Emma agreed and stood from her seat to let Henry out. The night was freezing, and she all but forced Henry to put his gloves on before continuing down the unlit stretch of highway.

"Not how I expected this go," Emma grumbled, glancing back at the Bug, dejected and lonely on the shoulder of the road. Her mother and son were already ahead, but she caught up easily.

"For a town that's supposed to be cursed, its certainly an obvious charactonym." Emma gestured at the sign.

"Why would she have to hide it? If everyone's cursed, they have no memory. No way to get out on their own. She's got them under her control," Snow confirmed, boots crunching against the asphalt with determination.

"Mom, wait." Emma reached out, grasping her mother's hand. Her fingers were freezing, skin thinned with age. Henry sided up to her, gripping her other hand in his smaller one. She looked down to him, and he gave her a proud little nod. She smiled.

At the line, they crossed together, hand in hand. There wasn't any fairy dust, and wooshing sound of creepy wind blowing around them like Emma might've suspected. But beside her, her mother gasped just slightly. Quiet enough that if the night had not been so still, Emma wouldn't have heard.

She looked up, stepping back in shock when she saw a thin veil of mist over her mother's face, and the wrinkles and lines fading from around her eyes, the corners of her mouth. Her greying hair faded coal black, shortening all on its own to a neat crop just above her ears, as Emma vaguely remembered her styling it when she was young.

The hand that Emma was holding was no longer ridged with wrinkles, but young and smooth. She jerked away, stepping back and gaping at the woman before her, transformed as if the clock had been turned back all twenty-eight years.


End file.
